


Get Your Kink On Prompt Table

by verucasalt123



Series: Get Your Kink On Prompt Table Stories [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Het, M/M, Masturbation, Other, Sibling Incest, Slash, Underage Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Wincest - Freeform, many combinations of Supernatural characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-07
Updated: 2014-03-07
Packaged: 2017-12-05 21:25:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 23,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/728088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verucasalt123/pseuds/verucasalt123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phone sex, prompt #22</p><p>Update - here's my banner for finishing the whole prompt table: </p><p>  <img/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Minutes

**Author's Note:**

> These stories are from the Get Your Kink On prompt table at LiveJournal. Each one is a tiny little porny one-shot. Hope you enjoy them. Also, IF YOU HAVE NOT SEEN ALL THE WAY UP AT LEAST TO THE BEGINNING OF S8, THERE WILL BE SPOILERS.

If there was anything Dean hated, even more than he hated diner cooks sneaking vegetables into his omelet, it was Sam being out on a hunt alone. This time, though, there was no choice. Dean was in the motel, angrily poking at buttons on the TV remote, his foot and ankle wrapped in that new whatever the fuck was being used now instead of plaster to immobilize broken bones. 

And really, Sam wasn’t even out on a hunt. He was doing surveillance. Not that it made a difference, Sam was out there alone and Dean wouldn’t put it past him to jump out and do some stupid shit with no backup if he saw something he thought needed taking care of. 

There was another thing Dean hated about this whole stupid situation. Being alone in bed, no Sammy there to hold him and kiss him and take his mind off the _talus fracture_ , whatever, it was a broken ankle. 

Turning off the television, he discarded the remote in favor of his phone. Sam was doing important work. Or whatever. Dean was bored, and horny, and those were higher priorities.

Sam picked up halfway through the first ring. “You okay, Dean? Did something happen?”

“I’m not okay, baby boy, something really bad happened”, Dean responded, suspecting his voice was giving him away already.

“Dean…”

“Aw, come on, Sammy. How much longer?”

“An hour, maybe, hour and a half, Christ, I’m not even two miles away. Are you really that fucking freaked out?”

“Of course I’m freaked out! Two miles away, at least an hour from being back here with me, and I’ve got this raging hard-on, seriously, this is a _problem_.”

His response was a half-sigh, half-hitched breath. Yeah. Oh hell yeah. This was totally going to work.

“I can’t wait that long, Sam. I’m gonna have to get myself off all alone. And do you know what I’m going to be thinking about?”

A moment of hesitation. And then, “What? Tell me what you’ll be thinking about.”

“About you, Sammy. You. Gonna pretend it’s your hand on my dick, your mouth wrapped around it…”

“You already have it out, don’t you? You’ve got your cock out, you’re touching it, thinking about what I’d do if I was there instead of here. I know it.”

Dean could only moan in response, because his brother was absolutely right. 

Sam had absolutely no way to continue his surveillance at that point, because the image of Dean getting himself off on the other end of the line took over every bit of brain function he had.

“Stroke it, Dean. Just like I do, a little around the head and then all the way. Can you do that?” Sam asked, as he reached down and lifted his own suddenly heavy dick from his pants.

“Yeah, yeah, I can…”

“Push your nail against the slit, Dean, like I do, is it all wet?”

“Fuck, Sammy, yeah, it’s wet, it’s leaking, for you. For you.”

Fisting himself and stroking hard, Sam tried to keep up his own end of the conversation. “Taste it. Come on, lift up your finger and taste it, you know that’s what I would do, right?”

And goddamn if Dean didn’t do exactly as he was instructed, bringing his finger to his lips and sucking on the bitter taste of his own pre-come. He could tell, though, just from the sound of Sam’s voice, he wasn’t the only one getting off on this.

“You’re doing it too, you’re touching yourself. Right there in the car, are you under a streetlight?”

“No, I’m…fuck, Dean, I’m in the dark, there’s nothing happening here. Except this. I’m touching it too, wishing it was you.”

Dean’s hand started moving faster at this revelation. He knew it was going to be over so much more quickly than he intended, but the idea of his brother jerking himself off in the driver’s seat of the Impala was almost too much.

“Sam, Sammy, damn it, I’m – close…so close, what are you doing?”

“Fucking my fist, Dean, that’s what I’m doing, wishing it was your ass I was fucking.”

And that was _it_ , just it, Dean let out a choked moan and came all over himself.

Just hearing it was enough to push Sam in the same direction, and he whispered his brother’s name as he spilled onto his hand and his jeans and boxers. 

After a minute or two of silence, Dean heard another sound, one he knew well.

“Yes, there are napkins in the glove box, bitch. Clean yourself up and get the fuck back here.”

“Five minutes. Be glad we’re still young.”, he replied, closing his phone and breaking the connection. Sam had often resented Dean’s ‘I’m older than you’ schtick, but right now, being twenty three was working in Sam’s favor. He’d be ready to go again in record time, he thought, as he pulled the car back onto the road.


	2. Sick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clothes-sharing, prompt #19

It had started two days ago, with just the occasional cough or sniffle coming from the Impala’s passenger seat. It was getting to be spring, and Sam said he was probably having an allergic reaction to pollen or spores or some other shit that was in the air as we traveled through North and South Carolina. 

By the next night, I knew he was blowing smoke, because the coughing and sneezing had gotten worse, we were 800 miles farther north, and even I knew that whatever was blooming in the deep South was very unlikely to be blooming north of Scranton, where I’d insisted we’d stop for the night. Plus, there was this constant sheen of sweat he kept wiping from his brow. Far be it from me to make a criticism of my baby, but her 40 year old heating system wouldn’t be causing him to sweat in northern Pennsylvania in March. His protests of _not being sick_ , the dumbass, had gotten weaker as the hours passed. 

I checked us in to the Super 8 outside of town, unloaded our gear and told him to take a shower while I went out for food. Obviously, I’d also be making a stop at a CVS or a Rite-Aid or whatever the hell drugstore I could find. 

Wandering to the back of the chain drugstore, I found generic Ny-Quil and some Vicks (big baby, he almost never got sick, but when he did, nothing made him feel better than having Vicks rubbed onto his chest like a freaking kid), and some real fruit juice since I knew he’d be pissy about drinking Gatorade. If we had the extra money, I’d have bought him a bottle of Pedialyte just to see the **righteously indignant** bitchface that would have resulted (it had always been one of my favorites).

When that was all taken care of, I got us some takeout. He’d bitch about the soup but too fucking bad, he’d eat what I brought him or he could just be hungry. All right, _fine_ , the truth was he’d eat the soup even if I had to make him all kinds of promises and kiss him 27 times on that one spot there at the corner of his jaw that made him turn to Jell-O (hey, maybe I should have gotten him some Jell-O at the drugstore), or do a tap dance or stand on my fucking head, but whatever the hell I had to do, I’d get him to eat it, and drink some juice, and take the medicine. But if he had a fever, he wasn’t getting any action tonight. He could be a persuasive son of a bitch when he was trying to get into my pants – not that it really took all that much work most of the time – but fuck if I was going to catch his cooties, not even for one of his Olympic gold medal caliber blow jobs.

I guess I shouldn’t have been too surprised when I got back. It looked ridiculous, but it happened every fucking time. Sam didn’t feel well, and he had unfettered access to my duffle. I unlocked the door, precariously balancing the drugstore bag and the takeout, and walked in to take in the sight of my baby brother passed out on the bed farthest from the door. My bag was lying open on the floor, and he was sprawled out on top of the covers wearing my clothes. Only pieces that hadn’t been washed since the last time I’d worn them. Sweatpants that ended four inches north of his ankle, a worn Motorhead t-shirt that was ridiculously tight across his broad chest and shoulders, and one of my flannel overshirts wrapped up in his arms like a teddy bear. 

The thing is, he’d been doing this since he was a kid. And yeah, now he wasn’t a kid anymore, but there was something about knowing that wrapping himself in clothes that smelled like me made him feel better that made my heart want to break into a million pieces and honest to God, I’d never even made fun of him for it, not even after he got better again. It made me feel…fuck, I don’t know, like maybe I’d gotten it right, maybe I’d taken care of him the way I was supposed to if being surrounded by things that were mine made him feel comforted.

In a few minutes, I’d have to wake him and give him medicine and make him eat, but I gave myself a little bit of time to just take in the sight of him, feeling as comfortable and safe wrapped in my clothes as he felt when he was wrapped up in me. There’s a slight possibility that I might also have developed an allergy to something because my eyes got kind of stingy-feeling and a little watery.


	3. Reflection (Sam/Dean)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt #8, mirrors

Dean hadn’t stopped kissing and groping Sam since they entered the motel room a few minutes earlier. It was possible that Sam’s hand resting but unmoving on Dean’s crotch in the car had produced an erection (which Dean had been struggling with for about six hours now) that made him so desperate. He wanted Sam. _Needed_ him. Like, five and a half hours ago. 

Quickly, they both got out of their clothing and let their hands roam over each other’s bodies with reckless abandon. 

Catching his breath and the slightest hint of brain function, Dean managed to speak, kind of.

“Bed?”

“No, Dean. Not the bed. Had something else in mind for tonight.”

Without even an ounce of resistance, he let himself be led to the dresser in the motel room, right in front of the large mirror hanging on the wall above it.

“Eyes front, Dean”, Sam told him, in that low commanding tone that never ceased to make Dean’s head spin and his stomach tie up in knots. 

Doing as he was told, though. He opened his eyes and caught a look at them, himself naked and wrecked, eyes wild and hair disheveled; Sam with complete control over everything that was happening.

As Sam opened him up with his fingers, Dean clutched the edge of the dresser and saw his expressions as Sam hit his prostate over and over with his fingers. Sam had surely seen this look on Dean’s face a hundred times, but Dean hadn’t seen it himself. 

“Sam, please…”, Dean didn’t know exactly what he was asking for, but he couldn’t fight the words escaping his mouth. 

“Don’t I always take care of you?” Sam’s response was given with a predatory and cold look that Dean had seen before. It was different, though, than seeing it like this, in a mirror, seeing his own face while he was driven to the brink of ecstasy and beyond. Sam was fierce and determined, but also incredibly turned on. Now that was a sight Dean was familiar with.

“Be good for me and keep your eyes open,” Sam ordered, as he fucked Dean all slow and tender, “I want you to see this. How it looks when we break each other down.”

He wouldn’t have been able to tear his eyes from the mirror even if he hadn’t been told to do so by Sam.

The two of them, together, his own expressions of pain and pleasure; Sam’s determination to rip him to shreds.

They were going to do this again, Dean was convinced, but next time he’d be the one behind his brother.


	4. Blasphemy (one-sided Cas/Dean)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #23, self love

With every intention of sharing news with his friends about their effort to stop the impending Apocalypse, Castiel popped into Singer Salvage Yard and started to turn toward the house. 

He was stopped in his tracks when he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. Standing close by, but angled so that he didn’t see Castiel, Dean was hunched over the open hood of the Impala wearing a white t-shirt so soaked through with sweat that it was transparent. After a moment, Dean stood, stretching in such a manner that his shirt rode up a bit, exposing just less than two inches of skin above his jeans, just at his left hip. 

Castiel didn’t have a full grasp of the feelings he’d recently developed toward Dean, but the physical reactions of his vessel were fairly clear. He’d almost recovered and started to make his presence known when he heard Dean loudly exclaim, “God DAMN it”, and throw a metal tool to the ground.

It was getting harder as time went on, his ability to fly taking more effort and moving him much shorter distances. But Dean’s blasphemy had, for some reason, intensified this…well, there was no getting around it, Castiel knew it was lust. He’d managed to extricate himself from the salvage yard and landed in the only place he felt safe these days: a cheap, random motel room off a two lane road in a small town.

Before he could stop himself, he gave in to the base instinct he’d been avoiding for some time and reached down to relieve himself of his trousers and briefs. Whether it was Dean’s descriptions of these acts or leftover sense memory from Jimmy Novak, Castiel knew, more or less, what to do. He started slowly, hesitating, resting his cock in his hand and stroking up and down without being entirely sure if he could even make this work.

That uncertainty only lasted a few moments, though, as the physical sensations overtook his reason. He started thrusting into his right hand, twisting his wrist a little every few strokes, letting his left fall down to cup his balls at the same time. 

The room was spinning, Castiel could barely think as his brain was taken over with images and memories, Dean, Dean’s soaked through shirt, Dean’s skin, Dean’s loud cursing. It wasn’t long before he felt his balls draw up close to his body and for some unknown reason, he let one finger slip behind them, pressing softly at the skin there. 

Suddenly, he felt what was left of his grace gather forcefully, realized that a light had burned out in the room, and registered the hot, slick presence of semen coating his hand. 

Blinking slowly and understanding what he’d just done, he felt a sudden urge to utter his own blasphemy. He figured he’d done enough of that for today, though, as he moved to clean himself up and attempt to calm himself down. 

He still had news to deliver in South Dakota, and he’d have to compose himself before he could go back there. Somehow, Castiel knew that though this may have been the first time he’d given in to his lust for Dean, it would certainly not be the last.


	5. &$%*#!$@&*%# (Sam/Dean, underage)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #10, dirty talk

There had been many unexpected twists and turns that developed over the past few months as the Winchester brothers started their journey down Incest Road. The first, of course, being the fact that they even ended up on that particular stretch of highway to begin with. Sam was only fifteen, but he’d been pushing this for a good long while, and Dean’s resolve was not infinite. One night when they were alone and Sam had climbed into his bed _again_ , he just gave in to it, unable (or just unwilling) to fight against the tide any longer. 

Surprise numero uno, Sammy wasn’t a virgin. Dean had assumed he was, only because he figured his brother would tell him about it if he’d had sex. Ask him for some pointers, or at least try to brag about it. But no, he’d kept it to himself that he’d nailed a girl from his history class two towns back just a week after his birthday. Still, for someone with only a little experience, Sam was surprisingly adept at some aspects of physical intimacy. Kissing, for example. Another unforeseen bonus for Dean. His little brother kissed like it was the end of the world, put his whole body into it, made Dean dizzy from it, which was saying something considering Dean’s vast and varied experience with kissing. No girl he’d even known kissed like Sam, and he was pretty sure that would hold true for the rest of his life. 

The really big shocker, though, was also related to Sam’s mouth. When they first started, he was a bit shy, unsure of himself in some ways. He was always vocal, though, making enough noise that they either had to make sure their dad was gone or that Dean had a hand available to clap over Sam’s mouth if he got too loud. After a while, though, as Sam got more comfortable and confident, Dean suddenly lost all motivation to shut his brother up. 

Sammy had a filthy fucking mouth. Dean could sometimes hardly believe that this sweet boy, who still gently carried spiders out of the house instead of just stepping on them, who beamed with pride when he got an A on an essay, who could bat his eyelashes and get an extra scoop of ice cream from a diner waitress, was capable of spouting off the dirtiest sex talk Dean had ever heard outside a porno. Of course, this was better because it was _real_. And it was just for him. 

The first time it happened, Dean thought he might never recover. They’d been fooling around, getting naked, making their way to the main event, when Sam pulled off Dean’s dick and said, “Why don’t you just fuck my mouth, huh? You know it’s what you want.” When Dean was so taken aback that he could only groan in response, Sam just guided Dean’s hands to his hair and kept talking. “Hold on to me, baby, and just fuck my mouth, I can take it. I wanna choke on it, De.” And aw, fuck, did he have to throw that in? De? Really? Well, that was just fine. Dean grabbed onto Sam’s hair and held him in place while he gave him a good face-fucking. When Sam just moaned around it, swallowing around his gag reflex and taking it while tears ran down his face, the (admittedly very small) part of Dean’s brain that was still functioning nearly short-circuited. Before he knew it, he was ready to spill right down Sam’s throat.

But oh, no, surprise again, Dean. Sam pulled off enough so that his mouth filled with his brother’s release, but he didn’t swallow, just held it there while Dean recovered for a minute. Well, sort of recovered. Until Sam moved up onto his knees, pushing Dean’s legs back toward his chest. He spit all Dean’s cum into his hand and said, “My turn now. Gonna use your spunk to open you up, get you all wet and ready, moaning like a whore.” Dean barely had a second to process the words before Sam had two cum-slicked fingers inside of him, and all he could do was slam his head back against the pillow and try to bite back a shout. “Yeah”, Sam said, and oh God, was he still talking? “You don’t just moan like a whore, you _are_ a whore. A slut for my fingers, my cock. Aren’t you, De?” he asked, twisting his fingers until he brushed against Dean’s prostate, which resulted in Dean nearly jumping off the mattress. 

Sam just chuckled and added another finger. “You ready for my dick now? Ready for me to fuck you so hard you’ll feel it for a week? Huh?” Dean still was unable to form actual words, so he got a little encouragement when Sam reached his other hand up and slapped his cheek, not hard, just enough to sting a little. “Answer me.”

“Y-yeah, baby boy, yeah, I’m ready, please…”

Without further delay, Sam slicked himself up and pushed into Dean with one slow, persistent thrust. They both took just a second to catch their breath and then Sam set about keeping his promise, slamming into Dean hard enough to knock him back several inches toward the head of their bed. “So tight for me, feels so damn hot, you’re gonna make me come. You want me to fill you up, De? Get you all messy? Such a cockslut, I know you can’t wait to feel me leaking out of you.”

Not wanting to get hit again, Dean gathered his wits and replied, “Yes, I – fuck, fuck, yes, I w-want it, feels so good Sammy.”

When Sam shuddered and came with a guttural cry, he instantly slid down and rested his head on Dean’s chest.

“Where’d you learn to talk like that, boy? You never even curse when you get pissed or hurt yourself!”

“Don’t you worry about that, Dean. We both like it, right?”

“Hell yeah.”

“Okay then. Go and get us a towel or something, I’m getting sleepy.”

And there he was, right back again, the Sam with the puppy dog eyes and the sweet smile. 

This was just gonna get better and better.


	6. Finish Your Whiskey And Beer (Sam/Dean)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #14, lick

Last call.

It wasn’t often that Dean and Sam stuck around for that, usually eager to get back to their bed. _Their_ bed, not some random motel bed, or a mattress on the floor of an abandoned cabin. The bed they’d gone to IKEA and picked out, moved into their very own apartment, and put together without killing each other using only an Allan wrench and illustrated instructions. 

They hadn’t broken it yet, so they’d probably put it together correctly. 

Here they were though, still at the bar, time somehow had gotten away from them as they relaxed with their beers and shots, enjoying the feeling of having no next hunt to get to. It was still new and exhilarating but at the same time unfamiliar. Not like the sex, which was exhilarating but not new or unfamiliar. 

The lights had come on in the bar, and the place starting emptying out quickly. The alcohol had gone to both of their heads, and luckily they were in a city that wasn’t too intolerant of their drunken PDA. 

Grinding up against Dean, Sam aimed a well-placed lick from his brother’s collarbone all the way to the edge of his jawline. He smirked when he heard Dean’s guttural moan. That only made him a little more bold, switching to the other side and repeating the slow swipe of his tongue along the same route. 

For his part, Dean was beyond caring what anyone left in the place saw. No one knew they were brothers, so who gave a fuck? He certainly didn’t have the ability for it as Sam was grinding against him and licking him like that. When he angled his head to steal a kiss, Sam just grinned and moved backward, using his tongue to leave a wet trail straight up his throat, across his Adam’s apple and up to his chin. 

As close as he’d been since he was a kid to coming in his pants, Dean was shaken from his reverie as he heard the distinct sound of a stranger clearing his throat loudly. When he looked around, he realized he and Sam were the only people left except the bartender.

The man didn’t give any indication of being uncomfortable with the explicit dude-on-dude action happening twelve inches from where he was standing. He simply raised an eyebrow and said, “You’re old enough to know the saying, guys. You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.”

Sam nodded at the guy and started leading Dean toward the door. They had plenty of time to finish this at home.

**At home**.


	7. At Last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #17, barebacking

It hadn’t taken more than ten minutes to get back to their place after being thrown out of the bar after they’d ignored the lights coming up at last call in favor of licking and rutting against each other. Having their own place was exciting enough, but what was about to happen surpassed just about everything else. 

Dean had insisted on using condoms, every single fucking time, until he finally let Sam bully him in to a clinic to get tested for STDs. In a show a solidarity, Sam volunteered to take the swab into his slit so he could prove he didn’t have anything either, though Dean highly doubted that was the case.

Being settled into their own place made it a little easier, knowing they would be around to get the results, no matter what they were. Sam wasn’t too worried, but Dean had been a bit more fast and loose with his sex life in the past, and though he was pretty sure he was clean, he wasn’t about to fuck his baby brother until he knew with absolute certainty that he wouldn’t be passing on some kind of…whatever the nurse had referred to as ‘sub-clinical’ sex-related germs. 

It had been that exact day when they’d gotten the call, probably what had prompted them to abandon their façade in public, learning that both of them were completely disease-free, neither of them had picked up even the slightest germ as a result of any one night stands they’d had over the past while. 

By the time they’d unlocked the door to their apartment ( _their_ apartment), it was fairly clear that they weren’t going to make it all the way to that pretty IKEA bed they’d assembled. It was all the way down the hall, and that suddenly seemed much too far. They did get to the couch, though, before they started shedding clothes and desperately clinging to each other. Once they were both entirely nude, the gravity of this particular event settled in on both of them. 

It was like the first time all over again. No waiting for one of them or the other to dig around looking for a rubber. They didn’t need one now. Slicking up his fingers with lube (obviously, they _always_ had some of that handy), Sam started opening Dean up, pushing into him from behind while Dean tried to catch his breath as his face was buried in a sofa cushion. 

Sam had to change that, though, because if this was going to be the first time he was filling his brother up with nothing between them, he wasn’t doing it looking at Dean’s back. He turned him over as soon as he was sure he’d properly gotten Dean open and ready with his fingers. Their eyes locked as Sam slicked up his cock, pushing Dean’s knees back toward his chest to give him a better angle for access. 

There was nothing…fucking nothing in the world that prepared either of them for the way it would feel without just that thin barrier of latex between them. Sliding uncovered into Dean’s hole was as close to a religious experience as Sam had had since before the Apocalypse. The feeling of Sam’s bare dick against his insides was almost too much for Dean. Well, all right, not almost, because before five minutes had passed, he came completely untouched, hard enough that he couldn’t contain the shout that accompanied his orgasm.

Dean’s muscles clenching against his cock, nothing separating them, was enough to send Sam in the same direction within thirty seconds. Both of them had wanted to make this last – it was, after all, a special occasion. But logically, neither of them thought it was possible, and they were both right. 

Fortunately, they both knew that the other would still be there in the morning, and that neither of them had anyplace to go, so they’d get another shot at drawing out the experience. For now, it was all they could do to drag themselves into their bed and pass out in each other’s arms.


	8. My Eyes Are Green (Sam/Cas)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #21, voyeurism

Dean had been out at the bar hustling pool, vaguely considering the offer of the girl by the tables to go back to her place. He couldn’t bring himself to accept, though. He knew he’d just be thinking about Cas the whole time, which is what had happened the past couple of times he’d tried to hook up with some random chick. 

Returning to their motel room with a pocket full of hustled cash, he was about to turn the key when he heard sounds from inside. Not the TV, sadly, as he would have been happy for the ammunition to mock Sam for watching Casa Erotica again. These were real sounds, not recorded ones. He hesitated at the door, not wanting to disturb his brother if he’d _finally_ found a girl he was willing to take to bed. There was no way to stop himself from listening, though, to the pleasured moans he heard from the room.

After a moment, though, he realized he heard no girl-like sounds, which was unusual. The times he’d caught Sammy with a late-night partner, it was clear he was making her happy by the high-pitched moans and squeals that resulted. All he could hear was Sam. 

But no, it wasn’t all he heard. There was the unmistakable sound of Sam getting his rocks off, it’s not like Dean hadn’t ever walked in on that before. The difference was that the resulting groans of pleasure that weren’t Sam were also not a girl, they were a guy, a low-pitched gravel tone that sounded strangely familiar. 

Moving back toward the window, Dean peeked into the tiny space where the curtains didn’t entirely cover the window. What he saw was like a punch in the face. Sam was going at it all right, in bed and rocking earnestly into his partner. But it wasn’t some random guy.

It was Cas. It was Cas and Sam, rutting against each other, kissing, touching, under the covers God only knows what else. Dean wished he could stop watching, but he couldn’t. Cas’ face was flushed and open in a way that Dean had only imagined in his fantasies. Sam was…well, he was causing the flush and openness. 

After a minute or two, though, he had to stop watching. He made it around to the side of the rows of motel rooms before he started retching. 

That was supposed to be him, pulling those desperate moans from Cas. Him, making Cas desperate for more. 

He got back into the car, pulled out of the parking lot and just drove. He’d have to get himself under control before he went back. At which point he was sure Cas would be gone and Sam would be passed out and he would have to pretend he hadn’t seen a thing, and even if he had, he didn’t care. It would be the biggest lie he could remember telling, but he’d do it. There was no way he was going to admit to his peeking and certainly no way he would tell either one of them that he was jealous. 

Cas was supposed to be _his_ angel.


	9. Bleed (no pairing)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #11, heated

There had never been a time when it wasn’t true. 

Even in the beginning, when Castiel fought against the pure disdain he felt for Sam, he would never have hesitated. And he didn’t. He didn’t, _ever_. 

He was asked for things he’d never considered doing, but did them anyway. 

He was compelled to disobey orders almost from the very beginning. 

On a park bench on a beautiful sunny day, he’d confided to Dean that he’d had doubts about Heaven’s plans.

In a moment of clarity, he’d embraced the concept of free will. If he could feel body temperature then, he would have known he was heated.

There were a few times he’d tried to hint to Dean and Sam, over the year before, especially after their bout with Fate, that he wanted them to remember they’d been the ones who’d showed him he could be more than just a _hammer_. He couldn’t tell them much more than that, he could only hope that at some point they’d understand.

Before that, though, there had been many incidents that required him to give something up for the brothers, something that was his. 

Spells, banishing sigils, summonings, rituals…there was one thing that was required for all of those.

His blood.

So in the moment, as they read what the boy prophet had given them, Castiel didn’t hesitate as he held out the vial in his hand. 

“Always happy to bleed for the Winchesters”, he said, a smile on his face, never acknowledging the heat of the vial, the heat of the looks being exchanged. 

He knew he wasn’t the same as he had been before. But some things never changed.

There would never be a time when he wouldn’t bleed for Dean, or for Sam. 

It was the truth when he told them he didn’t know what he was going to do. But one thing he did know was that if he had to bleed for them again, he’d be back to do it without hesitation. 

Truth be told, the brothers had bled for him more times than he could count. It seemed only fair to return the favor.


	10. Quiet (Sam/Dean)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #3, gags

Here’s the thing.

Sam…well, he’s loud. 

He’s big, his presence takes up the whole room when he’s in it, and his voice, though sometimes soft and compassionate, can be quite voluminous in certain situations, especially if he’s gotten angry.

When he’s having sex, though, well…he’s just plain loud. A screamer, to be completely honest. Dean had tried everything. When they were still teenagers living with their dad, he’d resorted to just holding a hand over his brother’s mouth, or pushing his face into a pillow to stifle the sound. 

It isn’t that Dean doesn’t _fucking love_ getting this kind of vocal reaction from Sam when he’s fingering him open, brushing against his prostate, which makes him cry out with no shame. He tries to hold back, Dean can tell, but when Sam’s dick hit the back of his throat, the sounds that come out of him are almost enough to shatter windows.

Which would have been no issue, had they been living in a house or something. But they live in motel rooms. Cheap ones, with thin walls. Considering the fact that they carry illegal weapons and often possess mystical artifacts, the last thing they need is some nosy desk clerk knocking on their door. Oh, and you know, the whole incest thing. Not like they really want to draw attention to that.

Eventually, they decide to try out some gags. A tie is their first attempt, since they had one on hand, but it was…well, to stay the least ineffectual. Tape is an easy substitute, but Dean hates how it hurts Sam to remove it. Clearly, more effort would have to be made. 

A foray into a sex shop is a bit uncomfortable for both of them, but it’s not like the people there know that they’re brothers, so that helps. 

Sam balks at the notion of a ball gag. That’s all right. Plenty of other options. 

After getting advice from the clerk, Sam blushing bright red when Dean explained that his _partner_ is really loud, a few other options are presented. Detective and bandit gags are discarded immediately, those would not be any more effective than the tie had been.

They end up settling on a ring gag. It’s not quite as invasive as the ball gag, but serves the same purpose. Plus, Dean could still get access to Sam’s mouth, depending on the size they chose. The clerk warns them that it could cause excessive drooling for the person wearing it, but Dean doesn’t see that as a drawback.

As it turns out, the trip to that little shop is amazingly successful. Sam’s crying and screaming ends up swallowed by the gag, and Dean can fuck him as hard as he wants without worrying about alerting other motel guests that there might be something untoward going on in room number _whatever room they’re in_.

Dean thinks maybe he can talk Sam into a bit gag at some point.


	11. Love To Take It (Sam/Dean)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #13, deep-throating

It had been months since this thing between them had started. Kissing roughly, quick and dirty hand-jobs followed soon after by oral sex and naturally reaching the point where they were fucking. 

Tonight, though, was a blow job night. He was where he loved to be, on his knees as his brother sat on the edge of the motel bed. He had started like he always had, licking and sucking lightly on the cock in his mouth, then couldn’t help but move farther down, take more of it, more, always wanting _more_. 

At first, he hadn’t been able to take all of it into his mouth. He'd made up for it by fisting the shaft in his hand, moving in time with his mouth. It seemed to be enough, for a while. But as time went by, he got better, more accustomed to the feeling of a dick in his mouth ( _his brother’s_ dick in his mouth), and he could go farther, take it deeper. 

What he wanted, really, was to get his mouth fucked. Frustratingly, he was well aware of his brother’s careful and controlled effort not to thrust into him. Probably didn’t want to hurt him, yeah, okay, that was understandable. Enough was enough, though, and on this particular night, he had no more patience for it. He hadn’t been able to say it before, but now he couldn’t help it.

Pulling off just for a moment, he looked up at his brother with pleading eyes. “Stop holding yourself still like that, please. _Please_ , just fuck me. Fuck my mouth. I can take it, I swear. You’re not going to hurt me.”

He was met at first with a skeptical and concerned look, but he knew he wasn’t going to be refused. He never was, especially when he said ‘please’. 

Within seconds, he felt strong, familiar hands in his hair, gripping tight and holding him still. “All right”, came the choked-out reply. 

Before he could even register the change, he felt his head being held perfectly still, and finally, Jesus, finally, he had what he wanted. His brother was thrusting his hips up forcefully. The sensation was better than he ever thought it would be. Forcing the muscles in his throat to relax, he swallowed the head and ignored his gag reflex. Unbidden tears fell from his eyes as his face was buried in pubic hair and he tried to remember to breathe through his nose. 

He knew his lips would be swollen, his throat would be sore. But none of that mattered. His brother’s cock was so far inside that he barely tasted the cum as it flowed directly down his throat as he heard a guttural shout from above him. 

After a moment, he pulled off again, and looked up to find a set of eyes fixed on him in absolute wonder. 

“That what you wanted?”

“God, yes. Fuck, fuck, yes, thank you”, he whispered, unable to manage more than that due to the pain and burning and _perfection_ he felt.

“Anytime you want, okay? Don’t be afraid to ask me. For anything. Okay?”

Pushing himself off his knees and settling himself onto the bed, he responded, “Yeah. I won’t, not anymore. Promise. But you have to promise too. Ask. I’ll give you anything.” He was pulled into a tight embrace, then they settled into a more comfortable position for sleeping.

Before falling into the usual post-orgasmic haze, he heard, “I know. I know you will.”


	12. Deductions (Sam/Dean)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #1, role play

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not thrilled with this story, but I was asked for it specifically, so I did the best I could.

“What the hell _is_ this?”, Sam asked, as he looked over Dean’s shoulder at the laptop.

“New and improved TV version of Sherlock Holmes, and it’s fucking fantastic. I think I might be a little bit addicted.”

Sam caught a look at the guy in the purple scarf and overcoat, and immediately got the idea. “You think this guy’s hot, right? It’s ok, he is, he’s totally hot.”

“It’s not just that. Yeah, the guy’s smokin’, but it’s the things he _does_. He takes a look at someone for thirty seconds and can practically tell you their whole life story. At least the past 48 hours or so. This shit is crazy.”

“You didn’t read the books, right?”

“Uh, no, I, um, I know this is based on those books from a thousand years ago, but I never read them.”

“This show is on BBC, Dean, how did you even get access to it?”

“Well, there’s this thing, you can download it, and it gives your computer an IP address from England or whatever, so then you can click on the thing and watch the shows.”

“If you get a virus on my computer, I’m going to kick you in the nuts.”

“No you won’t.”

“Fine, I’ll clock you in the jaw. Whatever”, Sam replied, but he sat and watched the rest of the show, and then the one after that, clearly noting that his brother was more than half-hard in his jeans as he followed the adventures of the consulting detective and his faithful blogger. Sam was fairly certain that he’d never seen a television show more overloaded with homoerotic undertones as this one. He decided to file that away for future reference. It was useful information, in more ways than one. Dean always swore he wasn’t gay, that the relationship that he and Sam had was an exception to his lifelong commitment to heterosexuality, and his attraction to men was limited to his attraction to _Sam_. 

Bullshit.

A few days later, while interviewing witnesses, Sam decided he would test his theory out. As the woman they were speaking with paused in her explanation of how her husband has disappeared so suddenly a week before, he casually noted, “Your nails look great. Manicure, recent, within the past two or three days. You made time for that while you’ve been so worried?”

Before she could compose any response to his question, he continued. “I see you’ve got a box filled with men’s clothing packed up there in the corner of the room. Your husband’s clothes? Dean, take a look, what do you think?”

Clearly surprised by Sam’s uncharacteristic hard line of questioning, Dean took a look. “Doesn’t look to me like she was expecting him to return.”

Sam stood up, close to him so that their height difference was obvious. “Very good. Very, very good, Dean. Excellent observation.” Once he turned his attention back to the wife, she was done and pouring out her confession that she sacrificed her husband in order to gain power from the coven of witches she had been associating with lately. 

Back at the motel, the case behind them, Sam decided he’d push his little _theory_ a little more. 

“Your pupils are dilated:, he said, pushing back his nervous feelings, Role-play was something they’d never tried before. Touchig Dean’s wrist, he continued, “Your pulse is twenty beats above normal. You’re aroused.”

Dean was quiet for a minute, processing exactly what it was that was going on here. His brother was playing at being Sherlock, and he guessed his proper role was Dr. Watson.

“You and your deductions. Right as usual”, he responded, not sure what was coming next,

“Let me help you with that, then”, Sam replied, without the accent but with the exact right inflection to his words.

Sam reached forward and tugged Dean’s pants down enough to get hold of his cock. “Fuck, yes, you can…you can help…” His words were cut off when Sam started stroking, and talking.

“Even more elevated respirations, you want this. You do _want_ this, John? Tell me you do.”

Dean crumbled to pieces at that moment. “Yes, of course, I want you, Sherlock. Just want you.”

They tumbled into bed, whispering pretend phrases into each other’s skin as Sam kept up his character and Dean tried, but wasn’t too successful.

In the moments following their coating each other with spunk, Dean managed to get out, “So, you like this role-play thing?”

Sam responded, half-asleep in post-orgasmic haze already, “Wanna make you happy.”

And fuck if that didn’t just say it all, right there.


	13. Ask Nicely (Sam/Dean)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #30, begging

I’m almost there. The place where he wants me to be.

It has been nearly an hour now, Sam’s lips on my chest, his teeth on my neck, his hands on my thighs. Everything I want except for that one other thing that he hasn’t given me yet.

I know what he’s waiting for. I’ve held out as long as I can. Yeah, he’s gotten a lot out of me, so far. Whining, which I’ll deny later, moaning, desperate clutches at his hands and his head, trying to direct him. I know it won’t do any good, not with what he clearly has in mind for this afternoon.

So finally, after all that time, I just give in, knowing what I have to do to get what I want. For the first time (well, not _really_ the first time), but the first time today, I finally break and find my voice, pleading, fucking humiliating, but it has to be done.

“Sam. Sammy, please?”

He just keeps it up, the licking and biting and teasing, waiting for me to clarify. “Please _what_ , Dean?” he replies, his eyes filled with fake innocence.

“Touch me, God, come on! Quit teasing!”

“But I’ve been touching you this whole time. Am I doing it wrong, baby? You don’t want me to touch you like this?”

I swallow my pride and give in. “Touch my cock, Sammy, touch my asshole, come on, please?”

Finally, Sam looks up at me from his position between my legs. “This not enough for you?” he asks, slowly moving his hand to my dick, just resting it there, not moving. “You want more?”

“Jesus, yes, Sammy, come on! You know you’re teasing me.” Taking a shallow breath, I continued. “I know what you want.”

“Give it to me then, Dean. You know how this works.”

“Sam, you don’t need me to tell you. You already know.”

A low chuckle echoes up from beneath me. He is having so much fun with this, he always does when he’s in this kind of mood. “I just like for you to remind me, that’s all. I like the way it sounds. What do you want first, Dean? And remember to ask nicely.”

“Lick me, Sammy. Eat my hole, _please_. Need you to get me nice and ready.” It’s not easy to string together coherent sentences right now, but I know if I don’t play along, this is just going to go on until my dick falls off. Sam moves, I can feel the heat of his breath across my ass, the flat of his tongue just this close…

And then it’s gone.

“That didn’t sound like ‘asking’ to me.”

God.damn.it. Now I’m done. I can almost feel the last of my manly pride jump off the edge of a cliff as I start talking again. “I want it so bad, so fucking bad, I’m begging you, I’ll do anything, I’ll get on my knees to beg if that’s you want me to do. Will you, please, Sam, **please** will you lick me open, touch my cock?”

Sam, of course, smiles like one of those benevolent saints that you see in church windows and replies, “Of course I will.”

He keeps his promise, I come all over his hand in less than a minute, and because my metaphorical dignity ship has already sailed, I don’t hesitate even a tiny bit before I start begging him to fuck me. It’s totally worth it.


	14. The Next Morning (Dean/Cas)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #5, afterglow

While he watched Cas peacefully sleeping (sleeping **hard** , like he did now that he was human), Dean was not-so patiently waiting. 

He was not waiting for Cas to wake up. Or for something to interrupt the early morning hours with some kind of bad news.

Dean was waiting for his freakout. He wasn’t really sure which kind. Maybe the ‘I just fucked a dude’ freakout. Or more likely the ‘I just fucked a dude who used to be an angel AND a virgin until a few hours ago’ freakout. The ‘Oh, and we also spent the whole night afterward cuddling each other and I was the fucking _little spoon_ ' freakout was a close runner-up. Honestly, there was no shortage of material here to lead to a meltdown of epic proportions. 

So he waited. 

And he watched Cas sleep some more.

And waited some more.

Then, to keep his mind off the waiting, he let his thoughts wander back to the previous night. The tender kisses, the uncertainty and then the passion on both their parts, the complete loss of any holding back that had been going on for WhoTheFuckEver knows how long. 

So now here they were. Early morning light shining in through the cheap curtains of their motel room, alone due to Sam catching a clue the previous evening and getting his own room. 

Feeling Cas stir against his back (because yes, little spoon), he wondered for a second if Cas was the one who was going to flip. Because Dean was beginning to suspect that maybe he _wasn’t_.

Cas’ lips found the back of Dean’s neck instantly, and his arm tightened around Dean’s torso just the slightest bit. 

“Good morning, Dean.”

“Uh…mornin’, Cas. You, uh…are you okay?”

And there it was. Cas laughed. Well, all right, maybe it was more of a giggle. And what the fuck?

“Yes, Dean. Of course I’m okay. We finally stopped pretending we didn’t want this, so we took it, and here we are, what could possibly be not ‘okay’ about that?”

Dean turned over so he could look Cas in the eye. 

“Really?”

“Oh, come on, Dean. You didn’t freak out yet. I didn’t freak out yet. I think that means neither of us is going to freak out.”

So Dean took a minute to contemplate his situation. He was wrapped up with his best friend, now his lover, letting the sun wash over them and not moving away from each other’s touch. Something inside him fell, and he moved in closer, kissing Cas full-on and not giving a shit about morning breath. 

“That was amazing, Cas. So much better than I ever even hoped. And cut the smirk, will you? Yeah, I hoped, and so did you.”

“Of course I did. And I’m happy. I want a hundred more mornings like this with you, a thousand more, a million more.”

“Shit. Cas, don’t get all…oh, all right, fine. Me too. I want that too. All the mornings like this. Even if I’m the little spoon.”

The text alert sounded then on Dean’s phone. Sam.

_You two ready for coffee yet? I don’t want to barge in on your afterglow. Or your round two._

Cas took the phone and fired off a reply.

_It would be round three, if you were to barge in on it. I believe if you went to get us some coffee, you’d give us time to complete our ‘afterglow’_

With a puzzled look, Cas handed the phone back to Dean. “What is **FML**?”

And then Dean laughed, real and loud and as heartfelt as he’d sounded in a damn long while.

“Let’s just keep making out until Sam shows up with the coffee, all right?”

“Of course.”

It was absolutely NOT a chick-flick moment. Not in any fucking way.


	15. Aftercare (Sam/Dean, underage)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #9, bathing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen to the awesome podfic here: http://soundcloud.com/saltandbyrne/aftercare, recorded to my fandom spouse saltandbyrne.

It happened over a small period of time, just months, but one of them was ready with a completely valid reason for their father to leave them _alone_ any time they wanted. It was almost surprising, the ease with which John Winchester accepted being relegated to the metaphorical backseat when one or both of his boys needed caring for. They cared for each other now. He just didn’t know (or didn’t want to know) how far that care extended.

When Sam saw his father and brother limping into the room battered and bruised, he immediately discarded his battered copy of Lord of the Flies in favor of assessing the damage. Nothing life-threatening, okay. This hunt had been dangerous enough that Sam had been left behind. He had turned thirteen weeks before and he’d been on hunts before, but John drew the line at certain types of hunts, thinking little Sammy wasn’t ready yet.

After reassurance from John that he and his brother were both all right, Sam’s gaze settled directly on Dean, his intent exceptionally clear (certainly to Dean, maybe to John, whatever). 

Dean caught on quickly. “I just need to get cleaned up, is all. I’m okay, Sammy.”

Before their father had a chance to intervene, Sam started leading Dean toward the bathroom of their motel room. “I’ll help him if he needs help, Dad. Hey, why don’t you have a drink?” Sam took the bottle of Beam and poured a healthy measure into the clear plastic cup by the sink. Handing it to his perplexed father, he continued, “Relax, I’ve got this.”

No more conversation was necessary as John sat on the bed and accepted his younger son’s offer as the two of them closed the bathroom door behind them. 

Sam knew their dad wasn’t going to just have the one drink. That’s just not the way it worked. He also knew he wasn’t going to just help Dean get cleaned up. That’s just not the way _that_ worked, either.

Filling up the tub, Dean removed his torn clothes with just a few winces of discomfort. He settled into the warm water and closed his eyes, just listening to the sounds of his baby brother getting naked. When he glanced up again, Sam was kneeling next to the bathtub, holding a washcloth and leaning over to kiss him. “So glad you’re okay, Dean. Was worried about you.” 

“Yeah, m’okay, better now.” He moved his arms around Sam’s tiny shoulders and pulled him in closer, accepting another kiss and deepening it. 

Sam moved back, saying, “You do need to get cleaned up, Dean. At least for a minute, before I get you all messy again”, with a sly grin that **did not belong** on the face of a barely thirteen year old boy. He soaped up the washcloth, cleaning Dean’s face first, then moving to his chest, bursting with pride with the choked out whimpers that resulted when he ran the cloth over his brother’s nipples a little longer than necessary. He took his time, first with Dean’s arms, then with his legs, intermittently stopping to kiss his mouth or lick his neck or bite his collarbone. 

He could see that Dean was hard, could feel his hips bucking up at almost every touch, though Sam carefully avoided touching Dean’s cock until his brother was squirming under every touch. 

Carefully listening for sounds in the room beyond their locked door and hearing nothing, Sam climbed into the tub with Dean, straddling his hips and grinding his own hard cock against his brother’s. There were still times when he felt so inadequate – Dean was _big_ , and Sam knew he was so small in comparison. He didn’t feel that tonight, though. Dean’s thorough enjoyment of their activities before this had garnered his self-confidence. All he could do was take in the sounds of Dean, knowing the effect his actions were creating. Seating himself fully in his big brother’s lap, he leaned in again and captured Dean’s mouth in his, swallowing down any noise that might have been loud enough to rouse their father as he pushed harder, moving himself up and down on his brother’s huge cock.

Maybe he’d have a dick like that one day, he hoped.

For now, he just held on tight, finding just the right mix of friction and movement, until he felt Dean go still underneath him. He almost sounded like he was choking on his own breath as he came, which made Sam so dizzy with lust that he followed him only seconds later. 

Looking down at Dean’s blissed-out expression and totally relaxed posture, Sam felt triumphant. Yeah, he could do this, he could take Dean to pieces right there in the motel bathtub with their father yards away and none the wiser. 

He learned from the best, after all.


	16. Adjustments (Sam/Human!Cas)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #28, moaning (also used for h/c bingo)

Castiel becoming human had happened so suddenly that Dean and Sam both were caught off guard when he expressed needs that were purely human. Of course, it was a much more difficult transition for Castiel. 

For the millionth time, Sam wished that if this really did have to happen, it would be when they still had easy access to human comforts. It would have been nice to just give Cas some food when he was hungry, let him rest when he was tired, teach him how to drive and hunt without having to stare down the end of the world at the same time. 

Of course, Winchester luck didn’t work that way. It never had, so there was no expectation for things to be different. Dean had ventured out from the abandoned house in which they’d taken shelter for the past day or so. Dean and Sam had practice working constantly through the insistent hunger in their bellies, from when they were kids and there just wasn’t any food to the time when a hunt took longer than expected and two days went by before they had a chance to eat. 

Leaving like that, alone at night…it wasn’t safe. Dean knew it, Sam knew it, Cas knew it. But when Cas curled up into a ball on the dirty floor with his arms held tight around his stomach, an honest to Chuck _moan_ escaping his lips. Dean couldn’t take it anymore. 

Out of earshot, he whispered to Sam, “I can’t stand it, man. I’ve got to find us some food. Look at him!”

Sam agreed, and though he wished he could go with his brother, he knew they couldn’t leave Castiel alone like this. “All right, just, you know, try to – try not to get killed or whatever.”

Dean rolled his eyes and walked out the door. Cas was still doubled over, a tight ball on the floor, shaking in his boots.

Yeah, boots. No more ‘holy tax accountant’ outfit. It was impractical. On closer inspection, Cas wasn’t just making sounds of complaint. “Castiel. You all right? Can I get you anything?”

The voice that responded barely even resembled the deep tone of Castiel, badass angel of the Lord. “Just…food. Please. It hurts. I can’t concentrate, can’t even think about anything else.”

“Dean went out to try and find something for you. He’ll be back, you know Dean, he’ll get some food and bring it back for you, everything will be all right.”

When Cas looked up, Sam was shocked at what he saw on the former angel’s face. He was crying.

Castiel was crying. Real live tears, not like Dean’s steadily controlled one teardrop that he let fall on rare occasions, much more like Sam’s ugly snotty weepy crying. 

Sam had nothing else to offer, so he just laid down on the floor next to Cas and pulled him into a tight embrace. Maybe if Cas cried like Sam, he’d appreciate comfort the same way too. It seemed he was right; Cas melted into Sam’s chest and went limp. “I don’t know how you do this. _Any of it_! Sore muscles and exhaustion and empty stomachs and being so afraid. But you do, both of you do it, Bobby did it, Jo and Ellen did it…I feel like I’m going to **die** ”, he sobbed against Sam’s shoulder.

“Shhh, Cas, come on, it’s all right. We’ve had years of practice. A whole lifetime to get used to working through the pain, finding ways to put it on the back burner. You’ve barely had a month to start processing these kinds of feelings. Give it time.” Before he realized he was doing it, his hand was rubbing circles into Castiel’s back in an attempt to comfort him further. 

Cas went tense again, surely another hunger pain making his stomach cramp. Another moan escaped his lips. “I sound pathetic. I feel pathetic. What good am I to either of you like this?”

And oh, no, that was most certainly not on. “Stop that right now” Sam replied, pulling back enough so that he could look Cas directly in the eye. “This is not about usefulness. You’re our friend, and you’re going to be fine. I’ve seen you face down things a thousand times scarier than being hungry or tired. I know it doesn’t seem like that to you right now, but I’m telling you, it’s the truth. I’m absolutely certain.”

By this time, Castiel’s tears were drying and he was looking at Sam like he was the only person on the planet. “Thank you. Your confidence in me is very…meaningful.”

Before Sam knew what hit him, Castiel’s lips were grazing his own. For a moment, he was surprised enough to freeze. Then he saw that look again, the sad and hopeless expression he couldn’t stand to see on the face of his friend. So he leaned forward and kissed him back, a chaste kiss, soft and quick. 

After that, it was kind of a blur, the two of them lying there on the floor pushing against each other, mouths eventually opening so their tongues could explore as much as they wanted.

The next moan he heard from Cas was definitely not as a result of hunger or pain. “I think I distracted you from your discomfort for a minute there”, he said, trying to sound casual. 

“You did. And I think I would appreciate it if you could _distract_ me on other occasions. If you wouldn’t mind.”

And really, Sam hadn’t given it much thought before about three minutes ago, but he was boarding the ‘distract Castiel with kissing’ train with no hesitation. “Of course I wouldn’t mind.”

They kept it up, still so slow and gentle and cautious – Sam didn’t want to overload Cas with too much at once. But hearing those sweet, soft moans from Castiel made Sam reluctant to stop. Finally, though, he pulled himself away regretfully. “Dean will be back soon. There’s a fair likelihood that he’d go into full-on apoplexy if he found us like this.”

Now here was a thing that was fantastic about Castiel being human now – he laughed. Really laughed, giving Sam a look at the wide grin on his face and the hint of dimples on his cheeks. “I’m sure you’re right about that” he replied. 

They both sat up, Cas still doubled over with his arms around his belly. “He’ll find something for you to eat, I promise.”

“I don’t like him being out there alone at night.”

“Well, he doesn’t like to see you hurting.”

The two men sat in companionable silence for another half an hour, when Dean returned; his coat pockets filled with pre-packaged Little Debbie snack cakes. “Gas station right down the road. I got some bottles of water too.”

So yeah, it would have been great if Dean had shown back up with fresh fruit or vegetables, anything that wasn’t filled with enough preservatives to survive yet another Apocalypse. But they took what they could get. Castiel took great care in sampling each different item set in front of him as Dean chowed down on Twinkies and Sam grabbed a pack of Strawberry Shortcakes. 

Another different moan came from Cas once he tasted the Cosmic Brownies. 

There was a long road ahead. But Sam knew that even if they ended up hungry or cold sometimes, he had a way to comfort Castiel now.


	17. Own The Night (Sam/Dean implied)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #20, teasing

The lights were going to be brilliant, he was sure of it.

Dean knew this was just a dream, or a vision, or something fucking with him while he slept. That didn’t stop him from immersing himself in the memory.

Sammy. Little Sammy, looking up at him like he was the Crowned Prince of EveryFuckingThing. Throwing his skinny arms around Dean’s waist, because that was still ok for him to do, just barely. If his memory was working correctly, his brother was just past turning thirteen that night they’d snuck off with a box of fireworks. Those days were coming to a close, the times when Sam was unselfconscious about showing affection to his older brother, soon giving way to years of sullenness, anger and purposeful distance. 

So this was it, really. A chance for him to relive one of the last moments when he could hold Sammy close to him, pretend he wasn’t already feeling that little tug of _attraction_ , that unspeakable thing that was dirty and wrong and sick and had to be beaten into submission with a fierce determination. 

“Got your lighter, Dean?” snapped him out of it, and he melted into the memory or dream or whatever it was, treasuring every second. 

Reliving those few brief moments was a blessing, but at the same time, such a fucking _tease_. What he’d felt that very night, seeing Sam literally jump up and down in his excitement that they’d been able to pull off sneaking out and setting off fireworks, something that normal kids wouldn’t have had to sneak out for. 

Remembering that brief period of time, a few years later, when they both gave in to that _want_ , loving every minute until Sam had walked away for something he thought would be better, taking a chunk of Dean’s heart with him. 

The years they’d been back together again and never, not even once, brought up what had happened before Sam left for Stanford. 

Pretending none of it ever happened.

Forget it, Dean told himself, fucking forget it and live in this gift, this tiny little moment when Sam was still innocent. 

And just as soon as it had appeared, it was gone again.

Dean found himself standing alone in an empty field. 

No lights, no Sam, nothing but the breath he could see as he called out his brother’s name.

All these years, Dean thought he had a handle on it, and here comes some stupid fucking weird dream thing or whatever to tease it right back up to the surface.

Motherfucker.

He walked back to the car. Alone. No idea what to do next.

But when this was over, whatever the fuck it was, he was going to say something. He’d wanted to, before, more than once, but was never able to bring himself to do it.

Not this time. 

Wherever he was, wherever Sam was when he found him, they’d get back home. And when they did, Dean was going to _say something_.

He meant it this time. No chickening out, no smashing it down with the other stuff he constantly repressed. 

Really. He was going to man up and tell his brother he wanted that back, he never stopped wanting it. 

Too bad he didn’t know just then how the rest of this little trip was going to turn out.


	18. Was Blind (Sam/Castiel)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #2, blindfold

_I have faced death and come back from it more than once. I have conquered battlefields in Heaven. I have been to Hell. I have gotten the attention of my father’s first and most powerful archangel by shouting a profanity and throwing a holy oil bomb at his vessel. I have trapped and insulted another archangel, one infinitely more powerful than myself._

Castiel counted all of these actions in his head and added them up to convince himself he was, indeed, a fearless and deadly warrior. The purpose of this exercise was to remind himself that he hadn’t hesitated a moment to do those terribly dangerous things. Surely, giving up a measure of control was not something of which he was _afraid_. That would be ludicrous. 

Right this very minute, he couldn’t see. Not because he’d lost his vision involuntarily, but because he’d agreed to allow Sam to cover his eyes with a blindfold. Well, to be more accurate, it was a t-shirt that was tied around his head in such a way that he was unable to see. Of course, if he’d wanted it to be removed, that could be accomplished with a mere fleeting thought. 

He didn’t want it to be removed. 

It wasn’t like he didn’t know. He hadn’t let on to Sam, because Sam wasn’t even really sure himself about why he was _different_ now. Castiel knew, of course. It tore him to shreds to realize he’d done a half-assed job at getting Sam back. Clearly, the Sam he’d pulled from the Cage was not the same man who’d fallen into it more than a year ago. Dean didn’t know, either. Of course, he wasn’t privy to the fact that Castiel regularly engaged in sexual encounters with this soulless version of his brother, that would have been a disaster of epic proportions. But he also didn’t know that Sam’s soul was still trapped down there – he suspected something was off, though. Castiel figured he’d have to go through the motions of pretending to be surprised when it came time to reveal that information (the soul information, not the sex information). 

Dean didn’t understand. He’d never understand about Castiel’s deal with Crowley, and he would most certainly never understand the nature of the relationship he’d engaged in with Sam.

“You like it, don’t you?” Sam asked, his voice coming from somewhere to Castiel’s left, approximately two feet to the left and what seemed at the time to be miles above Cas. “Not being able to see, anticipating what might be the next move, where you’re going to be touched, whether it’s going to hurt of feel good.”

Castiel’s response was completely truthful. “Yes, I do. I like it.”

Sam chuckled a bit as he started pulling roughly at Castiel’s nipples. 

“Tell me why, Cas. Why do you like it?”

So maybe now not so much truth. “It is arousing, the thought of what may happen to me under your hands at any moment.”

And damn if Sam didn’t just buy right into it, believing every word Cas said. 

“Don’t you dare to try using some kind of angel mojo to see through that fucking blindfold. I’m serious, Cas” he continued, “Take what I’m giving you and love it because you don’t know what’s coming next.”

Castiel’s reply was simple, and not untruthful at all. “I give you my word, Sam, I have made myself as human as possible so that I can experience this in a meaningful way.”

Sam seemed satisfied with that response. 

Which was fine.

Castiel had no intention of telling Sam he treasured the blindfold because looking Sam in the eye while he was keeping so many secrets was too much for him to bear.


	19. No More Words (Sam/Dean)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #6, say my name - by request, to go along with the now infamous "Wincest recording".

A darkened motel room outside of Lincoln, Nebraska is holding a secret within its walls. The two men inside are already naked, sweating and holding tight to each other in one of the double beds. They’ve done this before, lots of times, fooling around, blow jobs, kissing. But tonight is different. 

The older man has two lubed fingers gently stroking his partner’s entrance, stretching him slowly, preparing them both for their first time going _all the way_. Beneath him on the mattress, the younger man is writhing and his legs are spread obscenely. He cants his hips upward when a third finger is added. 

The dark and quiet room only adds to the incredibly intense feelings communicated with looks, touches and kisses. 

Finally, the younger one speaks. It’s almost a whisper.

“All right.”

The man on top of him leans down and captures his mouth in a passionate kiss, and when it breaks, the younger man speaks again.

“Dean.”

Dean pulls himself up, starts slicking up his cock with lube. Both of them are breathing heavily though they’re barely moving. Touching his partner’s cheek, he says, “Sam?” He doesn’t have to ask any questions, just that one word is sufficient.

Sam swallows hard, closes his eyes and nods his head slowly.

In a tone so soft it’s almost impossible to hear, Dean reassures him. 

“It’s okay, Sammy.”

Dean lines up his dick against Sam’s hole, and Sam replies only with hitching breaths and again, the name, like it’s the only word in the world that means anything.

“Dean. Dean.”

Sam gasps as Dean slowly begins pushing inside of him; so gentle, so careful. 

And there it was again.

“Dean.”

Once Dean is finally, _finally_ all the way inside, both of them panting in the humid air of the room, he does it again. He wants to know if he’s okay, if this is okay, does it hurt, is he scared, but he says only, “Sammy?”

Sam’s breath catches as he adjusts to the fullness of being penetrated so completely. Dean is still, quiet except for his breathing, just waiting.

Until Sam says, “Okay.”

With that, Dean starts to move, just slightly, pulling out a little and then pushing back in all the way, like he’s testing it out. When Sam repeats himself, “Okay”, Dean braces his hands on either side of Sam and starts thrusting. Gently at first, both of them getting used to the feeling. 

Sweat drips from Dean’s forehead onto Sam as he lets a tiny “oooh” escape his lips and speeds up the pace a bit.

Sam blows out a couple of sharp exhales, drowning in the pressure, the burn, the pleasure caused by that amazing cock sliding in and out of his ass. Soft moaning and grunting accompanies the sound of their bodies colliding in the dark. 

Barely there…another voice, it’s Dean.

“Ooh, yeah”. He never imagined how perfect this would be, so tight and hot and Sam so beautiful underneath him. He says the name again. “Sam.”

Now there is no sound in the room but the heavy breathing of both men, Sam groaning and gasping, Dean taking short hard breaths, attempting to keep himself from coming too soon. They want this to last. Sam can’t speak, manages only a few soft sounds, “ _ah ah oh ah_ ” in response to the overwhelming sensations.

It feels like Dean is stealing the air from his mouth when he leans down and says again, right against his lips, “Sam.”

The air around them is thick with sweat and heat and tension and pleasure. 

Their secret is safe in this room.


	20. Our Very Own House Of Wax

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #16, wax play

It started out as kind of a joke. Lying in bed ( _their bed_ , not some random motel bed like they used to have), watching a random horror film, half-exhausted from fucking, Dean said, “Hey, that guy kind of looks like you.”

Sam forced himself to concentrate on the dude currently taking up the screen.

“No he doesn’t.”

“He does, for real, but like, when you were younger. When you were at Stanford. Before you got all _Hulk-Smash_.”

“First of all, I’m not Hulk…anything. But yeah, I guess. Kinda. So?”

“So nothing. I’m just saying. He kind of looks like you.”

And that was that, because Sam was mostly passing out at that point.

Later, though, a week maybe, Dean brought it up again.

“You remember that movie we watched? With the wax house shit?”

“Uh-huh”, Sam replied, putting away the dishes from their dinner. “It was a piece of shit. Didn’t it have Paris Hilton in it? And that girl from Buffy?”

“Dude, seriously? Buffy?”

“Shut up, it was a good show. Hot chicks kicking ass and stuff. I don't know, maybe she wasn't on Buffy. Something like that, though.”

“Anyway. You know there’s stuff you can do. With wax. Supposed to be pretty hot. I mean, not like temperature hot. Except obviously, yeah, melted wax is hot. But like… _sex_ hot.”

Sam quit putting away the dishes.

“Of course I know that. Did you think I was a virgin when we started sleeping together?”

Oh, and now affronted Dean makes an appearance. “No! Obviously!”

Sam was thrilled with this little development. “You wanted to, though, didn’t you? When I really was a virgin? Did you want to be my _first_ , Dean?”, he replied with a smirk and a raised eyebrow.

“Shut up about that! You’re an asshole! Jesus! I’m trying to…” Dean seemed to run out of words then, and honestly, it made Sam feel a little guilty. 

“I’m sorry. Honest. Tell me what you want. I mean, as long as it’s not that you want to turn me into a wax statue or murder me in some gruesome way.”

“Quit being a dick and I won’t want to murder you.”

“Fine, fine, I said I’m sorry, I mean it. Now tell me. Please?”

Dean recovered fairly quickly. “I just thought maybe we could…try it out. See what it’s like. I mean, unless you already know all about it, on account of how _sexually experienced_ you were before we-”

“Aw, come on, quit being pouty. No, I never did anything like that, just ‘cause I know about it doesn’t mean I did it. But I would.”

“Really?”

Sam leaned in and helped himself to a quick but passionate kiss. “Of course, really. With you? You gotta know I’d try just about anything at least once. Right?” He figured that must have made up for whatever douchebaggery he’d been displaying when Dean’s expression softened. 

Once they made their way to the bedroom, though, Dean seemed a little hesitant. “Promise me, Sammy, please, if you don’t like it, you’ll tell me. Promise?”

“Yes, pinky swear, Dean. But I think I will like it. We won’t find out until we try, right?”

And that was that.

Dean purposely had Sam keep his jeans on, only taking off his shirt as he laid his younger brother down on the bed. Lighting the long yellow candle they kept in the closet for emergencies, he whispered, “Close your eyes.” And of course, Sam did. 

After a moment of tense waiting, Sam felt the first drop of wax hit his left nipple, and hissed with the pain while at the same time feeling his erection grow harder. 

“You like that?”

“Fuck, yes, do it again, Dean, please…”

Never one to hold out on his little brother, Dean obliged, dripping just a little more of the candle onto Sam’s right nipple, then sitting back to watch it harden as Sam exhaled sharply. 

“More?”

“Yeah, more. Come on” was Sam’s reply, almost a whine. 

Dean took his time, stretching a thin line of the candle wax across Sam’s chest, occasionally going back to add a little more to each nipple. Finally, there was a nice straight line from one nipple to the other, slowly cooling and hardening. He took a minute to blow on the substance, getting a rewarding full-body shudder from Sam.

“All right, Sammy. Now this is supposed to be the good part. Tell me if I’m wrong.” With a blunt fingernail, he started pulling the melted wax from his brother’s skin. 

Sam could barely keep still with the all-consuming sensation that resulted. By the time Dean had pulled the last of the wax from the spot where he’d first felt the heat, he was squirming desperately, his cock so hard against his jeans he thought he might just come in his pants like a freaking teenager. 

Luckily, Dean recognized the signs and took pity on his brother. Moving down on the bed, he quickly freed Sam’s leaking dick and started stroking him _fast_. It wasn’t more than a minute before Sam shouted and his orgasm coated Dean’s hand and his own stomach and chest.

There was quiet, just for a minute. Until Dean, characteristically, broke it.

“So I guess you did like it, then?”, he said, setting the now blown-out candle down on the nightstand.

_Their nightstand_.

Coming out of his post-orgasm haze, Sam grabbed Dean’s arm and pulled him close.

“Fuck me. Christ, please, Dean, just fuck me.”

And when did Dean ever turn down a request like that?


	21. Wet (Sam/Dean underage)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #7, lubrication

There was no stopping it now. 

Sammy was still young, so fucking young. And things between Dean and him had started with unconscious actions to begin with. Sam hadn’t even realized he’d been rubbing himself off against his brother in their shared bed at first. Of course, Dean knew, but no matter how much he wished he had the strength to tell Sam to stop, he just _didn’t_. 

Points deducted for Dean’s responsibility to protect his younger brother’s innocence. Okay. 

Dean didn’t need those stupid fucking points. He needed what they had. 

Grinding against each other until they came in their boxers when their dad left them alone. Mutual handjobs under the guise of Dean showing Sam how that whole thing was supposed to work. Fooling around in the bathtub after Sam had expertly distracted their father. Those few memorable occasions when one or the other of them was on the receiving end of a blow job that blew their minds. 

Now, though…now Sam was pushing. It was normal, in the way that anything they had could be considered _normal_ , Dean guessed. Sexual relationships progressed, they moved forward, always going on to the next step, or they ended.

Ending was not an option here. 

When they were sucking each other off or grinding their cocks together, there was always plenty of lubrication. Spit, sweat, pre-come, whatever. Enough to make their encounters comfortable and easy, at least in a physical way. 

Lately, Dean had given in to Sam’s insistent begging for Dean to finger his ass. At first, he’d been reluctant. Whatever else had happened, it hadn’t really qualified as ‘penetrative’, which Dean was holding out hope might save him from burning in Hell for eternity. His reluctance crumbled the first time he saw Sam reach back and insert two of his fingers into his own ass while Dean sucked his dick. 

The only word he could manage to get out at that sight was “ _Sammy_ ”, though it was more of a moan than an actual word. 

It didn’t take long for Dean to crack, to give in to Sam’s insistence that his own fingers weren’t enough, he needed Dean’s. 

But there was not a single fucking chance that Dean would risk hurting his brother. Yeah, Sam was a little champ, sticking those skinny thirteen year old fingers into his tiny hole. Poor misguided kid, he had no clue. All the while he was begging Dean to finger him, to fuck him, to _put your cock in me, please_ , but Sam didn’t seem to realize that Dean’s fingers were bigger, and his cock…well, Dean didn’t go around bragging about having a huge dick or anything, he figured it was just average, but his Sam was still so tiny. That last little bit of baby fat on his cheeks, his slim waist and skinny arms and legs – Dean cursed his inability to say no. 

So, that first time, Dean had gone out and gotten lube. Real live lube that was specifically designed for stuff you do to someone’s ass, not some lame hand lotion or whatever. 

Alone for the next three days, at least, he couldn’t put Sam off for any longer. He poured a ridiculous amount of the slick stuff onto his hand, and cautiously slipped one finger into his brother’s entrance. Sam gasped, hitched a breath or two, but shockingly pushed back against him almost immediately. With the insistent roll of his baby brother’s hips in tandem with his touch, Dean poured the lube on again and slid in another finger. Too much this time, he knew, because it was running down his hand onto his wrist, but better safe than sorry (better safe than hurting Sam). 

“Fuck, fuck, Dean, so good, I want it, I want more, come on”, Sam whined, bucking up his hips to illustrate his words. 

“Sammy, don’t you think we should go a little slower? I don’t want-”

Sam responded by grabbing Dean’s arm and saying, “To hurt me, I know, you don’t want to hurt me. You’re not _hurting_ me, I swear. If you stop I’m going to die. Like, for real, die. I mean it.”

Dean took a good look at him then. His words were petulant; childish. His chest was flushed and covered in sweat but so small and thin. The hand around Dean’s arm felt so little. Looked so damn little. 

“Baby, I just don’t know if you’re ready for this. It’s a big deal, and I know you want it, but damn it, even I was still a virgin when I was your age.”

“I don’t want to hear about you feeling guilty, Dean”, Sam choked out on a soft moan as he felt his brother’s fingers still sliding in and out of him. “I’m telling you this is what I want. We’ve been waiting all this time, so damn long, how much longer do we have to wait if we both want it?”

And yeah, a few months, sure, to Sam, that probably felt like forever.

“All right. But I’m telling you right now, even if neither one of us are done, we stop if I say so. Got that?”

“ _Fine_ , fine, okay, but will you please for the love of God just fuck me already?”

What kind of thirteen year old boy was supposed to talk like that? To his **brother**? It was too late now, though.

If there was a point of no return, they’d already gotten there. 

He eased Sam over onto his belly, assuring him that it would be more comfortable like that, and Sam didn’t argue. He wasn’t about to chance losing this hard-won victory. 

The lube came out again, and Dean knew he was overdoing it. He smeared it all over Sam’s hole until it was glistening and dripping wet. Then he coated his own dick with, like, half the bottle before finally placing his hand on his brother’s shoulder and saying “Just breathe out, baby, try to relax, I swear I’ll make it good for you.”

“I never thought you wouldn’t” was Sam’s reply, before he followed instructions and blew out a deep exhale as his brother breached his ass with just the head of his dick. 

And fuck, it burned, but there was no way Sam was going to let on and take the chance that Dean would stop. 

Dean kept pushing in, slowly, stopping now and again to slick the way with more lubricant. 

It felt wet and messy and strange but so good, so so so good for both of them. Just as Dean had imagined, Sam’s asshole was as tiny and tight and hot as the rest of his body; just getting all the way inside took a significant amount of effort. The ridiculous amount of lube they’d used certainly helped, but Dean’s cock was sore after just a minute being inside Sammy’s tight virgin hole. 

His efforts were rewarded, though, as it wasn’t more than a minute before he felt his brother’s breaths even out and his hips moving backward in an attempt to get _more_. 

Sam writhed and moaned and pleaded as Dean pumped into him with a little more force. His own groans of pleasure falling unbidden from his lips. “Fuck, Sammy, so tight, baby boy, all mine, so good for me” were met with corresponding “Yeah, Dean, please, waited so long, just fuck me, I’m yours, only yours…”

No more than a few minutes had gone by before Sam came all over the mattress and Dean followed him there mere seconds later. 

After a moment or two of silence, Sam wrenched his way around so that he was on his back again, facing his brother. 

“I wanna do that a really whole lot more. Okay?”

Dean could still feel his own cum and the half-gallon of lube he’d used leaking from Sam’s ass, and he knew there just wasn’t anything else he could say except “Of course, yes, a whole lot more.”


	22. Hot (Dean/Cas)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #29, latex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for saltandbyrne

Castiel had taken the first steps toward rebellion not long after he met Dean, whom he’d only known before figuratively as The Righteous Man, for the first time, almost like it was an autonomic reaction. Maybe there was something _off_ in his angelic nature, maybe he was connecting a bit too much with his vessel’s physical needs, or maybe it was just that Dean was overwhelmingly desirable no matter what. 

Either way, they hadn’t known each other long before they started sleeping together. At first, they’d tried to keep it from Sam, but both of them knew that wouldn’t last long, not the way the brothers lived their whole lives next to each other. Surprisingly enough, there wasn’t much admonishment from the younger Winchester. That could possibly have been because he was secretly fucking a demon at the time and not brave enough to admit to it. 

Since then, many things had changed, but that one thing had remained the same. Dean and Castiel’s sexual relationship continued to progress. Well, maybe _progress_ wasn’t the right verb. It had basically moved forward with the velocity of an Amtrak, never even pausing for a refuel. 

They’d had sex in the shower and in semi-public places. Dean had made lewd comments that caused Castiel to blush and Sam to grace them with fake-puking sounds. There had been bondage and rimming and porn-watching.

And there, right there…well, the porn-watching had gotten them to this very moment. The moment he’d returned to his room (Sam still insisting on getting his own room when he knew Cas was going to be around) and walked in on his lover covered in gleaming black latex from shoulder to ankle. 

Dean had to admit, it was an interesting look. Certainly didn’t leave much to the imagination, showing off every sharp angle and curve of muscle on Cas’ body, including the bulge in his groin. Even though that bulge was kind of covered up by a silver metal _zipper_. So yeah, it was, uh, different, and unexpected, but not really the kind of thing that got his motor running.

It didn’t happen often, but Dean Winchester was suddenly rendered completely speechless. Just for a minute.

“Cas”, he choked out. Taking a deep breath, he tried again. “Cas, what are you doing?”

“I am not doing anything, Dean.”

“I mean, what is – what is _that_? The, uh…the outfit. Where the hell-”

“Oh, there is an establishment in this town that offers these types of clothing for sale. I used your credit card to purchase it, I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, I don’t mind if you use my – fuck, I don’t care where you got it!”

“But you just said ‘where the hell’, so I thought-”

“Sorry, Cas, that isn’t…” Dean took another deep breath, exhaling shakily as he attempted to steer the conversation in the right direction. “I meant, why did you think I would want you to wear something like that?”

“From the movie. Last week.”

‘The dominatrix porn on the pay-per-view?”

“Yes. The woman in the dominating position was wearing something similar to this, and you said ‘that shit is hot’. I realize I don’t always understand your references in regard to sex, but I do know what it means when you say something is hot, in a sexual context.”

And fuck, fuck, fuck. Cas was right. Dean had, in fact, seen the woman in that stupid porno and said those exact words. And he was, in fact, referring to the black latex getup she was wearing. 

“Cas. Sweetheart. When I said hot, I meant _hot_. You know, like, she must have been sweating her ass off wearing that shit. Especially because she expending a lot of energy beating the crap out of that dude.”

Castiel looked devastated. Finally, he thought he’d gotten one right, and here he’d gotten it completely wrong. Though he had to admit Dean’s assessment was correct. This clothing (if it could be called that) was constricting and caused him great discomfort physically, as well as making his body temperature higher than usual. 

“I apologize, Dean. I misunderstood. As usual.”

Dean moved closer then, taking Cas’ face into his palms. “Don’t apologize. Never apologize for trying to do something nice for me. Please.”

Their eyes locked and the kiss that followed helped to alleviate the awkwardness and tension in the room. 

“Take this off. I was right about it being sweaty, wasn’t I”?

“You were. And of course, I will take it off right away.”

As Cas turned to move, Dean remembered something else from that movie.

“Don’t guess you happened to pick up the matching flogger, did you?”

Castiel gave him a puzzled look. “Of course I did. As well as the appropriate restraints. The only thing I could not reproduce was the boots, as the store did not have them available in my size.”

Dean smiled. 

So Cas smiled too.

“Leave the outfit, take the flogger.”

Cas didn’t know that was a reference to anything, but he did what Dean asked anyway.

Dean figured next time, they’d watch Godfather instead of a cheesy porno.


	23. More (Sam/Dean)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #18, fingering

Sometimes, Sam got into a _mood_. 

He thought it was fun to play around and tease his brother until he forced Dean to fucking beg (yes, literally beg with pleading or tears or going to his knees) to be touched or sucked or somethinganythingwhatever that was going to make him come.

But that was all right.

Dean could play that game, too. Hell, this wasn’t _new_. They’d been screwing around for years. One of the many advantages of having been Sam’s first (and only, for a good while) was that Dean knew every single thing there was to know about what his baby brother liked and exactly how he liked it. 

So yeah. That was cool. 

Because sometimes, Dean got into a _mood_. 

Tonight was one of those nights.

He was generous with the lube, that kind he liked best, the one that didn’t have any funky smell or taste. They’d tried those other ones with flavors or scents or that were supposed to heat up with contact, but Dean, and Sam too, ended up always going back to their tried and true plain old Astroglide to assist them with prep.

Well, mostly to assist them with prep.

If it hadn’t been one of Dean’s mood nights. 

Just one finger inside Sam’s entrance, moving in and out easily with the liberal amount of slick he’d used, and within three minutes Sam was squirming and bucking back against Dean’s hand.

“Come on, Dean”, he did not whine as he wiggled his ass and looked up at his older brother with a not pouty at all expression. 

“You don’t like it, Sammy? We can stop”, Dean whispered, close to his ear. “It’s okay if you want to stop, baby.”

And oh shit, if that didn’t bring back _really_ old memories for both of them.

“No, fuck, I don’t want to stop, I want **more**. You know I do.”

“More what? I’ve got my finger in your ass, Sam, I’m fucking you with my finger. It’s not enough?” 

Of course, Dean knew damn well it wasn’t enough, wasn’t even in the same solar system of enough. 

“You’re gonna make me say it?”

Dean couldn’t stop the smug grin on his face. 

“Yep.” He watched Sam throw his head back against the pillows, take a deep breath, let it out.

“Give me another”, Sam mumbled.

“Sorry? What? Give you what?”

Clenching his teeth, Sam grit out, “Give me another one of your fingers in my ass, Dean!”

“Ooooh, Sammy, you know better. What’s the magic word, baby?”

Defeated, Sam closed his eyes and relented. “Please, Dean. Please fuck me with more of your fingers, I need more, _please_."

Dean didn’t do this to his little brother all that often, but when he did, he always felt pride in the fact that he could make Sam start saying ‘please’ in about half the time that Sam could make him do it. 

It was enough, though, for now. Dean slicked up two more fingers and pushed them inside Sam’s hole, rewarded with the sight of his brother’s cock leaking pre-come and his mouth falling open in a half-sob, half-moan. When his fingers hit just the right spot, Dean knew it, because Sam’s back arched off the bed and his cock twitched against his abs. 

“Sam. I think I can make you come like this. Just like this, come on being fucked by my fingers.”

“Please”, there it was again, and Christ how Dean loved to hear that word. “Don’t, please, just fuck me, I want you inside me.”

“I am inside you”, Dean responded, twisting and pushing his fingers again, knowing he was hitting Sam’s prostate relentlessly. “This is going to happen, I can see it, I know it, you’re not gonna touch yourself, and I’m not gonna touch your dick, and you’re gonna jizz all over the place.”

“It’s not _enough_ , Dean, I need more, I need your cock in me, please, don’t tease me like that!”

“No no no, Sammy, it _is_ enough, I can already tell. My hand is right here and I can feel your balls getting tight, you’re close, aren’t you? So fucking close.”

“Dean, I want you to fuck me, come on, I need you to fuck me, please?”

In response, Dean just chuckled. “Oh, I’m gonna fuck you, Sam.” He saw his brother’s lids start to droop, felt his breath speed up, heard that barely choked-off sound that was always there right before he came. “I’m gonna fuck you in five…four…three…”

And that was it. Sam shouted loud enough for someone to complain to the motel manager and shot his load completely untouched.

Dean didn’t even give him any time to recover, just continued his countdown as he slicked himself up. “Two…one…”, then thrust his dick into Sam’s still clenching ass.

So maybe they both had found a way to gain the upper hand every now and then. Dean could live with it if Sam could.


	24. Move (Sam/Cas)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #24, restraints

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> podficced here https://www.box.com/s/baoz9zt9ang7b6aor1z0

If he really wanted to, Castiel could actually move. Break the bindings around his wrists with a single thought, hell, he could just make them _disappear_.

He could stand up and walk away, in fact. 

If he really wanted to.

But he didn’t. 

Sam had confided in him, told Castiel he’d wanted to take him, to restrain him so that he was powerless against anything Sam wanted to do to him. And as usual, Castiel agreed, eager to give his lover anything he wanted. 

So he locked his powers down, buried them deep inside his vessel, and gave Sam what he asked for.

In a physical way, Sam knew he was basically in bed with Jimmy Novak, but he really didn’t give a flying fuck. 

He had his angel, his all-powerful warrior of God, bound to the slats in the headboard by the metal cuffs around both his wrists. Castiel never broke a promise, and Sam knew he was going to get what he had asked for – the opportunity to do whatever he wanted while Castiel was only as strong as a man. 

A man who was much smaller than Sam.

It wasn’t that Sam didn’t like the dynamics between them as they already were. He was well aware that Castiel had the ability to overpower him physically and as it was, he did so on a fairly frequent basis. Sam had no problem with that. He just wanted to see what it felt like if the tables were turned. If Castiel was the one who was unable to move beneath Sam’s much larger body, unable to reach out and touch, unable to turn them around at his whim. 

Only half an hour into their experiment, it was obvious that keeping his promise was quite difficult for Castiel. As Sam teased him relentlessly, licking and biting his nipples, softly running his hands over Castiel’s thighs, kissing and nipping at the exposed column of his throat, it seemed there was an instinct that caused the angel to pull against the cuffs. Of course, having voluntarily muted his powers, it did no good. 

No good for Castiel, anyway. For Sam, the whining and bucking and begging from beneath him was indescribably wonderful. 

Sam had seen his lover kill with a thought, fight with a fluent grace that almost seemed choreographed, bring down the ugliest monsters they’d encountered with a single touch. 

But he’d never seen Castiel struggle. And he’d sure as hell never heard him _beg_.

“Please, Sam…please, will you…can you…ohhhhhhhh, please, more, touch me” Castiel struggled with the words, not familiar with having to ask for what he wanted since he was so accustomed to just taking it. 

“Gonna touch you for a long time, I promise” Sam replied with a grin, running his tongue up Castiel’s sternum, biting down when he reached his neck. 

The response Sam got was more than he’d ever hoped for. Castiel groaned, bucked his hips up again and pled to him, “No, Sam, _touch me_ , I need…need you to…” And this was the part where Castiel would have tugged on Sam’s hair and guided Sam’s head in the direction of his dick. 

But he couldn’t do that this time. 

“I want to touch you, Sam, feel you, move you, it’s so hard to be still” he continued, panting and letting out little sounds like ‘mmm’ and ‘ahh’ and something remotely similar to ‘grr’, like a growling noise as Sam continued teasing him. 

When Castiel was so overwhelmed with sensation that words escaped him and all he had left were these pretty little throaty sounds that reminded Sam of what a girl sounded like when she was about to come, he finally gave in and swallowed Castiel’s cock into his mouth, all the way down into his throat. 

Over the sounds of the cuffs chafing against the headboard, Sam heard something he thought he’d never hear in a million years, after all the sexual encounters they’d had, all the fights they’d been through, all the insane places they’d found themselves over the past few months.

“Fuuuuuuuck, fuck, fuck, Sam, I-”

That was all the warning he got before Castiel’s cum hit the back of his throat and slid right down. Sam had him so deep inside that he barely tasted it. He definitely heard that cursing, though, and damn him straight to hell if making an angel of the Lord drop the f-bomb made Sam as hard as he’d been in as long as he could remember. 

Sam slid up and kissed Castiel as he was recovering from what seemed to be a pretty amazing orgasm. As soon as he’d gotten his breath, though, the question was out. 

“Are you going to remove these restraints now?”

With a triumphant and almost evil grin, Sam reached for their bottle of lube and responded, “Not quite yet.”


	25. Gasp (Dean/Crowley)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #15, breath play

There was no way he could resist, honestly. Yeah, he was a hunter, strong, resilient, determined. But there was something about the demon…no, not just a demon anymore, the King of Hell…that Dean just could _not_ walk away from.

Maybe it was all the responsibility he carried on his shoulders, and a desire to set down that weight for just a little while. Maybe it was the fact that Crowley’s accent and his smooth delivery of sarcasm had always gotten him just a little bit worked up. Whatever, it didn’t really matter now, because Dean had no desire to say no when he was called. 

Not surprisingly, they were in a fancy room with a soft, comfortable bed. Dean was nude, as he always was when Crowley summoned him. 

Sure, Dean and his brother had found ways to summon Crowley, but now Crowley had a way to summon Dean just as effectively. There were no spells or blood or incantations required for this. The only thing necessary was for Crowley to think that he wanted Dean there with him, and all of a sudden, there Dean was. 

Even lying without the power to move a single muscle, Dean wasn’t complaining. Crowley always called him when his absence wouldn’t be noticed. It wouldn’t do either of them any good for Sam or Castiel or Bobby to find out about _this_. 

Crowley was on top of him, crowding him, before Dean could even register what was happening. Not that he had any objection. There was a calm feeling that washed over him whenever he found himself there, regardless of the lack of control that came along with it. Or maybe because of that lack of control.

Nothing ever prepared him for the overwhelming **need** that crept up into his mind and took over his body when Dean found himself covered in Crowley, forced down onto his back and six of the seven times this had happened completely unable to move. 

Crowley smirked, whispered into his ear, “Something new tonight, I think.”

Dean could do nothing but shiver helplessly, his eyes wide and his entire brain and body thrilled at the thought. He didn’t care what the _something new_ was, because he already knew it would be mind-blowing, amazing and probably on the edge of terrifying.

As he felt Crowley’s mouth hovering over his achingly hard cock, he tried with all his might to buck up into it; useless, of course. He wasn’t moving unless Crowley wanted him to move, and clearly, he didn’t want Dean to move. 

All of a sudden his dick was completely surrounded by the demon’s talented mouth and tongue, taken all the way in. No gag reflex for the King of Hell, that would never do. The only outlet Dean had was his own sounds of pleasure and desperation, moans of satisfaction, and it wasn’t much, but it was something.

Until it was nothing, because now he couldn’t even do that. Crowley’s mouth was still stuffed with Dean’s dick, but one of his hands had come up and gripped Dean by the throat, cutting off first the noise and then his breath. He couldn’t even struggle against it, bound by the powers keeping him still. 

The pressure against his throat increased incrementally, first just making Dean even more turned on, then panicked, then he didn’t even know what, because it was all just too much. His senses were pinpointed on his cock, the sucking and licking and _teasing_ , because for all that it was too much, it still wasn’t enough. And then he became aware of just how little oxygen was making its way into his lungs, and his vision started to white out around the edges.

Dizziness overcame him within minutes, though he fought to stay conscious, to believe that Crowley wasn’t actually wasn’t going to asphyxiate him to death right here and now. And then it _was_ enough, because the sucking got harder, the demon hollowing his cheeks and putting as much pressure on Dean’s dick as he was on his throat. 

Just as he was on the verge of fading out, he felt his balls growing tight, that familiar curl of heat in his spine and his belly, and Jesus fuck, how had he not ever known that having an orgasm while you’re about to pass out from lack of air was the most amazing feeling ever in the history of anything?

It took him a minute to recover, his hands tingling and his eyes trying hard to come back into focus. When they did, the first thing Dean saw was Crowley’s smug grin, Crowley wiping his own mouth with the back of his hand, Crowley sitting up looking triumphant. 

“Now wasn’t that nice, Dean?”

Dean couldn’t even respond, because his head was listing to one side and he was gasping for air. 

“Yes, I thought so, too”, were the last words Dean heard before he passed out while Crowley ghosted his fingers over the bruises around his neck, making them disappear.


	26. Torn (Sam/Ruby)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #26, biting

Sam Winchester has an M.O., and he has a type, and Ruby is just fucking perfect for both.

His type (despite the fact that the one time he happened to fall in love with someone, she was an athletic blonde) is tiny, curvy, dark haired girls who like it rough. 

Sam Winchester is a hair-puller. 

Sam loves grabbing onto a woman’s long hair and fisting his fingers into it while they kiss and while they fuck and on rare occasions, while she sucks his dick. He doesn’t have the patience for blow jobs, honestly, never has. It’s never enough, and even though it feels good for a few minutes, he’d really much rather lavish his attention on his partner or just get on to the main event. 

He likes girls he can drop onto his lap so they can fuck sitting up, face to face. Taking a cock like his is no easy task in that kind of position, but there’s no way he’s going to lie down and let some girl ride him like she’s _on top_ , so lap sex is kind of his favorite. Well, definitely his favorite. Ruby has to hold on to his shoulders so she doesn’t fall while he’s fucking up into her, and they’re close enough so her clit is rubbing up against him the whole time.

Ruby lets herself go, every time, lets herself _be_ the body that she’s in, slight and weak as he makes her come over and over. She only lets him drink when they’re finished, because she knows she’d have to hold him back if they tried it after, and she also knows he’d never want her to do that. Sam is not, in any way, submissive, and if he felt like he wasn’t in control of every aspect of their sexual activity he’d resent the hell out of it. 

Sam Winchester loves kissing.

Actually, he loves every activity that involves his mouth being somewhere on Ruby’s body. But every time, it ends up the same. Starts out kissing, morphs into licking, spins around into sucking, then turns into biting. 

Tonight they’re both completely naked and she’s lying on the bed and he’s towering over her, loving how small she looks and feels underneath him. 

He kisses her cheeks and her mouth; Ruby moans softly and whispers his name.

He moves to her neck, starts licking and sucking gently, then nipping with the slightest bit of pressure, just enough to make her breath catch and start getting a little ragged. 

But he can’t keep himself from her tits for too long, they’re just so fucking perfect, soft and the exact right size for Sam to get his entire hand around each of them. Her nipples are almost pink and almost brown, somewhere in between, at least they are when they get started. Ruby gasps when he licks her there, whines when he starts sucking and then braces herself for when he gets to the biting. First it’s just little scrapes of his teeth. By this time her nipples are already hard little nubs and standing right up so he can get a good grip. 

Sam moves away, just for a few moments, biting down hard on the flesh of her breasts, leaving marks that she’ll allow to turn into bruises because he likes looking at them later. Still, she can’t help but cry out when he clamps his teeth down around her nipples, turning them a dark purple-red as she submits willingly to the pain. 

She’s already squirming under his touch when his mouth moves lower, leaving teeth-marks and every now and again the slightest bit of broken skin along her sides and her belly. He laps up the tiny droplets when they appear but never goes any farther; that’s for later. 

Sam Winchester does not stick his dick into a pussy that’s not already wet from an orgasm. 

It’s a rule, and so what if Ruby’s a demon, he’s not breaking that rule, so when he’s done tearing up her skin with his teeth and she’s panting and writhing around on the bed, he grips his hands on her hips and holds her still when he starts in on her clit. He licks and sucks, slow then fast then slow again, hard then soft then **hard** again, just how she likes it. He pulls away a minute, long enough to leave one impressive bite mark on the inside of each of her thighs, then gets back to work, his steady rhythm resulting in Ruby shaking and coming all over his mouth. Sam loves the way it tastes, the way it feels, how her muscles clench and relax involuntarily for a minute or so after and her legs press tight against his body.

He gives her a few seconds more to catch her breath before he picks her up. Sliding down to the end of the bed, he plants his feet on the floor and lets her position herself correctly before he shoves his cock inside, all at once, and not even a little gently. Sam loves the sound Ruby makes at that first thrust, some combination of whining and growling that turns him on even more. She hangs onto him tightly as he pushes as far as he wants, as hard as he wants, as fast as he wants. It’s the way he likes it, so it’s the way she takes it. 

When he comes, he bites her shoulder so hard that she bleeds and she screams and she curses. 

Sam Winchester is fucking a demon. 

If Azazel had lived long enough to know about it, he would have been proud.


	27. Legos and Boba Fett (Sam/Dean underage)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #12, toys

Dean looked down at Sam, passed out with his mouth open and his feet hanging off the edge of the bed, one sock still on. He couldn’t get enough of it, ever. It didn’t even make him feel bad anymore, contrasting the image of this sweet, sleeping boy with the image of that boy who had given him a spectacular blow job half an hour earlier. 

Not even when his eyes wandered to the other side of the tiny room in their ‘home’ for the past six weeks in Benevolence, Georgia; just east of the Alabama border. The sight he took in was still just a little difficult to reconcile. Beside their duffle bags and Sammy’s school backpack, there was a pile of Legos. Brightly colored blocks that his brother had arranged into a strange geometric shape; holding it up next to an illustration in his math book, filled with pride that he’d been able to recreate the figure. 

With his toys. 

Dean was seventeen and had foregone enrolling in school this year, with no more than a token protest from their father. School was compulsory up to age sixteen in most states, including Georgia. By the time they’d gotten there, Dean had been several months past his last birthday and John figured he wouldn’t get in trouble if his oldest didn’t want to finish. They’d all seen it coming, and John didn’t have the energy to fight over it. Not like you needed a diploma in their line of work, anyway. Sam had been the only one who’d bitched about Dean’s decision, but he had no control over it. 

No matter, honestly, Sam fucking _liked_ school, got shuffled ahead in some of his classes because he was brighter than other kids his age, which meant this year he’d be in ninth grade instead of eighth. He needed a challenge, because a bored Sammy was nothing to be trifled with.

That’s how all this started anyway, their dad having taken off for a hunt in the Midwest after getting Sam set up at Randolph Clay High School ten miles away in Cuthbert. He’d left the Impala for Dean, so that he could work while Sam was in school. Two days after John had left, Dean was drinking a beer on the steps outside their little rental house and Sam came outside holding his treasured Boba Fett and holding it out to Dean, saying in a poorly imitated voice, “I take it you have no love for the Empire”.

“Cut out that stupid crap, Sammy. Aren’t you a little old to be playing with toys?”

“Shut up, jerk. Boba Fett isn’t a toy, he’s a kick-ass bounty hunter. A _hunter_ , Dean, just like Dad.”

“Yeah, I guess”, Dean had to concede. 

But then Sam settled next to him on the step…close. Too close, for how fucking hot it was. 

“Dean. I’m bored. There’s nothing to do here, this doesn’t even count as a town, seriously. There’s not even an arcade here”, he half-whined, half-bitched, rolling his eyes in that uniquely **Sam** eye-rolling way. 

“Arcade’s in Cuthbert. I could take you, if you want. Maybe get a look at that school you’re gonna go to. I have to look for a job anyway, I could drop you off and let you play games while I check out where I could find some work.” Dean still hated leaving Sam alone in any public place, but as he’d gotten older, it was kind of ridiculous. Thirteen year olds didn’t need a babysitter. Dean knew that, in his brain, but…some things just never leave you. Like that time he’d gone out for a few minutes all those years ago…fuck, shut up, forget that, don’t remember that, don’t think about that, the worst most horrific mistake you’d made in the mere eight years or so you’d been alive at the time, he told himself. 

“Don’t feel like the arcade. Don’t wanna go anywhere. You can keep me company right here.” Sam was already close but he moved even closer, slotting his hand over Dean’s knee and looking up at him with a look that could not possibly be mistaken for anything other than what it was. 

“Sam. Come on. I get it, okay? I know what it’s like to be your age and get a stiffy every time the wind blows but don’t – please? Don’t. I already know what you’re thinking and you’re going to regret it. I swear you will, and so will I.”

“I won’t. Please, Dean? We don’t have to, you know, like…do everything. Just something. I want it. I really do, I want it and if you think for a second I haven’t already figured out that you want it too…”

“Who gives a shit what I want, Sam?” Dean shouted, louder than he meant to. He hadn’t expected Sam to come right out and say what he knew they both had already been thinking for months, stealing heated glances and too-long touches whenever they could get away with it. 

“Me. I give a shit what you want. And I think you want me.” Sam’s eyes were steady on him, challenging, that look he’d just acquired over the past few months, a stark contrast to the kid who’d slept in his lap in the back seat of the car all those years, sometimes only able to drift off when Dean stroked his hair. 

A stark contrast to the kid who’d been given the first toy he’d remembered having, a model car that Dean gave him when he was almost five, picked up at a yard sale after he saw an ad saying there were kids’ toys and it was only a three-mile walk. Dad was home, so Dean wasn’t leaving his little brother alone, so he’d trekked the few miles on foot and come back with a pocket full of Matchbook cars Dean had paid a dollar for. As if a dollar was anywhere near the worth of Sam’s bright grin when Dean handed them over. 

Had Dean been a normal nine year old, he’d have wanted to keep those cars for himself. But he wasn’t. 

“Goddamn it, Sammy, you’re telling me you’re ready for – you want to – do things…with me, and you’ve got a fucking _toy_ in your hand. Are you saying it’s ok for me to fool around with a kid who still plays with toys?”

“If it’s me, then yeah. Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m saying. And I already told you, Boba Fett isn’t a fucking toy.”

With that, the plastic figurine was tossed onto the steps and Sam moved his hand just a little bit farther up Dean’s leg. 

Instinctively, Dean responded, “Language, Sam”, but he didn’t try to move away. 

Because Sam was right, Dean did want him, but he figured that if he’d ever do anything about it (which he probably wouldn’t), it would be at least a couple of years later. 

Sam was nothing if not stubborn, though. That first day, they’d just rutted against each other, not even naked, both of them making a mess of their boxers. The situation moved quickly, though, and after a few weeks they’d ventured into mutual hand-jobs, watching each other jerk off so each of them knew what the other liked, and eventually even to kissing (which you’d think would be the first step, but things seemed to work differently in the small world of underage same-sex sibling incest). 

Tonight had been the first time he’d let Sammy blow him, and how the hell did a thirteen year old virgin end up being really fucking good at that?

Dean’s eyes landed again on the pile of Legos, and the little Boba Fett sitting on the nightstand. 

He was going to Hell when he died, he already knew it, for what he was doing with his brother. But it was too late now. Sam could play with his toys, and play with himself, and play with his brother, and there was really nothing to be done about it.


	28. Slut (Sam/Dean underage)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #25, jealousy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for underage prostitution

It couldn’t be what he thought. No way. 

Dean had emerged from the bar, his pockets filled with tonight’s pool-hustling money, and almost completely sober. He’d barely made it three blocks down the street, in the direction of their temporary apartment, when he saw what must have been a hallucination.

Not uncommon in this neighborhood, there was a young kid, a teenage boy, leaned over the curb, having a conversation with a man in a car through an open window. But this wasn’t just any kid. Just from his body language, Dean knew what he didn’t want to know in less than a minute.

That was Sam. 

Sam, in nothing but a tight t-shirt on a cold night, jeans slung low on his hips, a sly grin on his face. Before the conversation had a chance to conclude, Dean was right there, grabbing his baby brother by the back of his hair and saying something (he wasn’t sure what) that had the guy in the car pulling away quickly.

“The fuck, Sam? What the goddamn _fuck_ are you doing?”

Stupid question. He knew exactly what Sam was doing.

Squaring his shoulders and refusing to back down to his brother’s anger, Sam replied, “Just trying to help, Dean. You’re hustling pool, Dad’s scamming credit cards. That’s what you’re good at. This is what I’m good at. You know we need the money. So we’ve all got some illegal source of income. Don’t flip your lid, damn it.”

“Flip my lid? Seriously? _Flip my lid_? You’re fucking sixteen, Sam! Don’t you have an exam tomorrow?”

“Yeah, Dean, I do. I’m ready for it. Just fucking back off, please, let me work and I’ll be fine for school in the morning, I promise.”

Dean was incredulous at this point. Sam was acting like what he was doing was the same thing as what Dean and his dad did for money. And it wasn’t. It most certainly _was not_.

He took a deep breath, and let go of Sam’s shirt. “How much?”

“How much what?”

“You know what I’m asking you, bitch. How much? In a night?”

Sam finally seemed to deflate a bit, flushing just a bit. “Four hundred, maybe five. I’m safe, Dean, I use condoms and there’s no stupid trick who could hurt me with my _training_ ”, he sneered, getting across his little dig at being forced into ‘the life’. 

Dean ignored it, and dug a wad of cash from his pocket. He tore off six hundred-dollar bills from the stack and threw them at Sam’s chest. Before he could compose himself, Sam was on the ground, picking up the cash. 

Glancing up at his brother’s face as he knelt on the sidewalk collecting the money, finally, he recognized how angry Dean was about this. “This is **not** the same. Not like hustling pool, not like filling out fake credit card applications. Justify it all you want. But it’s done now. I just outbid every trick who comes by here tonight. So you come home now, with me.”

“I’m not taking your money, Dean.”

“No. No, you’re not. You’re earning it. Move. _Now_.

Sam knew, at that point, there was no point in arguing further. He followed Dean back to their place, up the steps, and into the bedroom they shared.

“Get your clothes off, whore. Let’s see what I just bought.”

“Dean, you can’t be-”

“Shut your whore mouth, Sam. I just fucking paid you, do what I say.”

And that was it. Sam was used to it by now. he stripped and stood by the bed. For some reason, waiting for instructions from his brother was less threatening than waiting for instructions from a stranger.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked, his voice trembling. 

“You tell me, Sam. I don’t know what whores do for their money.”

“Uh, well, for that much, pretty much anything. I could suck you, then you could fuck me.”

“Fuck you? Tell me this, Sam, before you started doing this, how many girls had you fucked?”

No sense in lying. “One.”

“And how many guys did you let fuck you? For free? How many blow jobs did you give before you decided to become a _hooker_? How many?”

“None. No one. Not ever.”

“And since then?”

Sam was crumbling under the weight of the interrogation. “I don’t know. Twenty, maybe. It’s only been a few months.”

Dean’s breath caught then, and he almost lost his composure. Sammy’d been doing this for _months_ and he didn’t know. Big brother protecting little brother, failed project right there. He couldn’t concentrate on that now, though. 

“Fine”, Dean replied, taking his cock out of his pants. “On your knees, whore. I just bought you for the whole night. Suck me.”

In one fluid and clearly practiced movement, Sam fell to his knees, taking Dean’s dick into his mouth, sucking like a – fuck, no. Dean held Sam’s head completely still and fucked into his mouth until he heard him gag and choke.

At that point, he pushed Sam off and started taking off his clothes. “Get on the bed. On your back, I want to see you.”

Sam hurried to follow Dean’s instruction, but he was still confused. Was Dean angry and taking it out on him like this? Was he trying to humiliate Sam? Or did he…oh my God, did he _want_ this? With him?

“How much prep do you need, Sam? Already been fucked tonight?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I have. I’m all right.”

After pulling on a condom, Dean didn’t hesitate before pushing into his brother, fast and rough, coaxing a rough moan from Sam. Maybe it still hurt, maybe not. He couldn’t bring himself to care, he was still so taken over with anger. Thrusting hard, it wasn’t more than a few minutes before he spilled inside the latex. 

For a few minutes, they were both quiet.

“If I need to keep paying for it, that’s fine. But you’re not doing that again. You understand me?”

Chastened, Sam just responded, “Okay, Dean. Okay.”

“You’re gonna be a slut, that’s fine, you’ll be my slut. Got it?” he asked, and without asking for an answer, he continued. “Go to sleep, Sammy. Don’t forget about that exam you have in the morning.” Pressing his lips to Sam’s cheek, their first kiss, he kept speaking. “Mine now. Mine, Sam. No one else.”

“Yours, Dean. Of course, yours, always yours.”


	29. Make You Sweat (RoboSam/Dean)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #2, rimming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I already posted this by itself on AO3, but it was part of this prompt table so I'm adding it in here.

It wasn’t too long after Sam and Dean were reunited that they resumed the sexual relationship they’d had off and on for years, since they were really still just kids. Of course, it wasn’t too long after that when Dean realized something was not right about his brother. He was stingy with his affection as he was trying to work it out in his head, exactly what was wrong with Sam. After Castiel handed down the diagnosis explaining Sam’s symptoms, everything bedroom-related except for sleeping came to a grinding halt. Well, for Sam, that wasn’t a complete change, since he’d revealed he hadn’t been sleeping all this time anyway. 

And wasn’t that just the way. There was always something Sam kept hidden away. Whether it was something small or something Apocalypse-starting, he was never an open book like Dean was to him. Dean had always resented the hell out of it, but not like this. He wasn’t sure if it was worse, or if it was just that one last thing that proved to him that his brother, no matter what he wanted to believe, was not trustworthy. 

For a while, Sam made a show of being exceptionally remorseful and tried everything he could to get back into Dean’s good graces (and back into his bed, as this new Sam had no frame of reference for going without sex when he wanted it). But there came a point where the pretense fell and Dean told the T1000 version of his brother to quit pretending, and for God’s sake, to quit trying to get into his pants. That was _not_ going to happen. If they could get Sam’s soul back, maybe, one day, but Dean wasn’t getting naked for this stranger who had been pretending to be his lover. None of Sam’s (not-Sam’s) arguments made any headway, and Dean held his ground. 

Until one night after a particularly brutal hunt that had followed a 14 hour road trip to the destination. They both showered back at the motel, Dean going first, as was the norm these days, and having downed half a bottle of Beam before his brother (his not-brother) came out of the bathroom with nothing on but a towel loosely fastened at his waist. Dean was drowsy and approximately one and three-quarters sheets to the wind, but when Sam dropped the towel and climbed into his bed, he sat up like a shot, hands out to protect his space. 

“Dean. You need this. Don’t try to tell me you don’t. Come on.”

“ **You** need this, asshole. And you can get it wherever you want, except for here. Your exception to one night stands seems to have disappeared with your soul, so why don’t you just put your clothes back on and go out to pick up some chick, bang her in the bathroom of a bar or something.” No matter what else had changed, the idea of Sam (not-Sam) picking up another guy was something Dean’s brain could not process, would not accept as a possibility.

Sam (not-Sam) laughed. Really laughed. “You say that like banging some random chick in the bathroom of a bar is reprehensible behavior, Dean. It sounds like you’re _condescending_ to me for doing things like that when we both know you’ve done it plenty of times.” There was a dangerous edge to the tone of his voice just then that made Dean's blood run cold. But he followed the comment with a low chuckle. “When did you turn into a prude, man?”

Dean remained silent and turned his head in the other direction, not even wanting to look at his brother (his not-brother) right that minute. He didn’t give a shit what it sounded like.

Sam didn’t move. He sat patiently on the edge of the bed, still looking expectantly at Dean. Dean took another swig from his bottle. Two swigs. Three. Things started to get a little fuzzy for a second, and maybe he let his guard down. Before he knew it, Sam (not-Sam) had him flipped onto his stomach with his boxers halfway down his thighs. Dean tried throwing him off, but T1000’s extra 20 pounds or so of pure muscle prevented him from doing much.

“Cut it out. I’m serious.” Dean mustered up the best ‘cut it out I’m serious” tone he could manage, but his exhaustion, his alcohol intake and his lack of willpower were causing him to lose the battle.

“I feel like this is one of those times when I should do something nice for you, Dean. You don’t have to do _anything_. Swear.”

He pulled Dean’s hips up and angled them just how he wanted. “Don’t move now, Dean, just take it, it’s gonna be so good, I’m not gonna hurt you”, he whispered right next to Dean’s ear. 

And that was just it. His resolve crumbled as he recognized the sound of a long, deep moan making its way up his throat and right out of his mouth. He buried his face into the pillow and thought, well, Sam (not-Sam) is about to fuck me right through this mattress and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it. 

But Sam just moved onto his knees and lowered his head. He pulled Dean’s cheeks apart and licked his hole with the flat of his tongue, just enough pressure to send Dean into another bout of moaning like a porn star. So Sam just continued, licking softly, then sucking, then pointing his tongue and forcing it inside the rim of Dean’s asshole, pushing in and circling around as he used to when he got into the mood for it before…well, just before. 

Dean’s cock was a treasonous fucker, and was hard enough to cut glass within minutes. What he didn’t realize at the time was that this wasn’t prep. It wasn’t foreplay. Sam (not-Sam) had this whole thing planned. The rimming was the whole goddamned show. 

The licking, sucking and tongue-fucking continued, and Dean was whimpering, writhing, incoherent. “Doesn’t matter what you think I’m missing now, does it?”, Sam asked, not expecting a response, at least, not a response in words. “You’re moaning like a little whore. You fucking love this.” Then he started again, this time pushing his tongue in farther, holding on tight to Dean’s cheeks to keep them apart, giving him easy access. He broke up the strokes into his brother’s ass with more fervent licking, sucking, even nipping at Dean’s hole with his teeth now and again, he sound of it just as obscene as Dean's cursing and groaning. He knew he could make this happen. He could keep his promise that Dean wasn’t going to have to do anything. 

Dean held out as long as he could, but he’d already lost one fight – any dignity he may have possessed before Sam (not-Sam) had pulled his boxers down was long, long gone as he continued to squirm, whine, whimper, moan and he could feel that heat radiating out from his spine, spreading around him, into his belly. Sam felt it when Dean’s balls started to draw up tight against his body and he smiled as he kept on licking, sucking, giving the most enthusiastic rim job he’d ever given in his life. 

No more than two minutes later, he felt Dean’s entire body tense, heard his wild, loud keening sound, and could have sworn he heard something resembling “Sammy” lost in the noise somewhere when Dean’s orgasm sped through him like a bullet, coating the blankets and Dean’s own belly and cock with his seed, without his dick having been touched even once. 

He gave his brother a minute to recover, then sat back on his heels, wiping his face with the towel he’d discarded after his shower and smiling with something he figured was probably satisfaction or maybe pride in a job well done. 

Sam (not-Sam) stood up and threw the towel onto the pillow where Dean’s head was still buried. Then he settled himself into his own bed across the room and got under the covers, grabbing his battered copy of Crime and Punishment.

“Told you. Wasn’t so bad, was it? Now clean yourself up and get some rest. I’m going to read for a while.”


	30. Peepshow (Sam/Dean)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #4, public sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this might already be posted too, but it's the last story for this table, so here it is again.

“Dean.”

“What is it, Sammy?” Dean replied with a smirk.

“We are in a parking lot, dude. At the mall. On the last Saturday before Christmas.”

“Yeah? So?

“So”, Sam said, in a hiss of a stage whisper, “there are people all over the place. Anybody could just-”

“Just what? Peek in the window and see me pulling your dick out?”

“Yes, Dean, exactly that.”

“Hmmmmm. Little extra Christmas surprise for them, then”, Dean said, getting Sam’s cock free from his jeans and palming over the head. Sam was already rock hard leaking precome, which meant he wasn’t nearly as opposed to this whole thing as he was pretending.

“Little extra Christmas surprise for us if…ahh, oh God, if it’s a mall cop and not just some random shopper wrapped up in their own shit.”

“Guess it’s a chance we gotta take. Ratio of shoppers to mall cops is pretty small. I’ll take those odds”, Dean responded with a grin.

“Come on, you can’t – fuck, oh fucking hell, Dean…” Sam’s head fell back against the inside of the car window as his brother starting stroking in earnest, thumbing over his slit and doing that thing where he twisted his wrist _just like that_ on the upstroke.

“Can’t what, Sam? Lose your train of thought there?”

Sam couldn’t even answer him, because his brain function momentarily shut down.

It’s not like Dean wasn’t perfectly aware that Sam liked taking these chances as much as he did, liked the idea of being seen, getting caught. Reckless fucker had started it when he was sixteen and knew for a fucking fact their dad would be back any minute. Had started Dean liking it, too. No way Sam was getting away with whining about it now. 

“Just – damn it, just hurry up, will you?”

“’Cause you don’t want anyone to see? Is that why you want to make it quick?”

Rolling his eyes back in his head, knowing full well Dean had his number on this one, Sam just said, “You know why, you can, mmmm, oh oh fuck Dean, you can feel it.”

“So it’s because you’re close already? Balls getting all tight against you? Starting to feel that heat, Sammy?”

“Not – not just starting. You stuck your hand down the back of my jeans in the – ohhhh shit, Dean, please – in the goddamn food court. Got me going an hour ago, jerk.”

“Well, you want it fast, all right, I can do that.”

And damn if he didn’t lean across the seat and dip his head, taking Sam’s cock into his mouth and doing those dirty fucking tricks with his tongue while he hollowed his cheeks and _sucked_ , leaving Sam breathless and moaning. 

“Dean…Dean, I’m close, come on, so close, just-”

No reason for him to finish, really. Dean reached his other hand around and pressed two fingers against Sam’s hole through his jeans and that was it. He had a mouthful of Sammy’s cum and a half-passed-out little brother panting against the fogged up window. 

When Sam opened his eyes, Dean was licking the leftover jizz from his lips and smirking, eyes blown dark with lust.

Turning to start the car, he gave a little grin to the woman who’d completely stopped piling shopping bags into her minivan beside them so she could get a free peepshow. 

Pulling out of the parking space and headed toward the exit, Dean was still smiling. 

Sam couldn’t help but smile a little himself, planning a way to get Dean back for this one sometime very soon.


End file.
